THE  HEAD  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

BY 
FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT 


AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  SHUTTLE" 

"THE  SECRET  GARDEN" 

".LITTLE  LORD  FAUNTLEROT' 

ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BT 
FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT 

COPYRIGHT,  I92I,  BT 
THE  INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  COMPANY 


ALL,  BIGHTS  RESERVED 


First  Printing,  December  21,  1921 
Second  Printing,  February  2,  1922 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


Stack 
Annex 


THE  HEAD  OP  THE 
HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  history  of  the  circumstances  about  to  be  related 
began  many  years  ago — or  so  it  seems  in  these  days. 
It  began,  at  least,  years  before  the  world  being 
rocked  to  and  fro  revealed  in  the  pause  between  each  of  its 
heavings  some  startling  suggestion  of  a  new  arrangement 
of  its  kaleidoscopic  particles,  and  then  immediately  a 
re-arrangement,  and  another  and  another  until  all  belief 
in  a  permanency  of  design  seemed  lost,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  earth  waited,  helplessly  gazing  at  changing  stars  and 
colours  in  a  degree  of  mental  chaos. 

Its  opening  incidents  may  be  dated  from  a  period  when 
people  still  had  reason  to  believe  in  permanency  and  had 
indeed  many  of  them — sometimes  through  ingenuousness, 
sometimes  through  stupidity  of  type — acquired  a  singular 
confidence  in  the  importance  and  stability  of  their  posses 
sions,  desires,  ambitions  and  forms  of  conviction. 

London  at  the  time,  in  common  with  other  great 
capitals,  felt  itself  rather  final  though  priding  itself  on 
being  much  more  fluid  and  adaptable  than  it  had  been 
fifty  years  previously.  In  speaking  of  itself  it  at  least 
dealt  with  fixed  customs,  and  conditions  and  established 
facts  connected  with  them — which  gave  rise  to  brilliant — 
or  dull — witticisms. 

One  of  these,  heard  not  infrequently,  was  to  the  effect 
that — in  London — one  might  live  under  an  umbrella  if 
one  lived  under  it  in  the  right  neighbourhood  and  on  the 

1 


2   THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE 

right  side  of  the  street,  which  axiom  is  the  reason  that  a 
certain  child  through  the  first  six  years  of  her  life  sat  on 
certain  days  staring  out  of  a  window  in  a  small,  dingy 
room  on  the  top  floor  of  a  slice  of  a  house  on  a  narrow  but 
highly  fashionable  London  street  and  looked  on  at  the 
passing  of  motors,  carriages  and  people  in  the  dull  after 
noon  grayness. 

The  room  was  exalted  above  its  station  by  being  called 
The  Day  Nursery  and  another  room  equally  dingy  and 
uninviting  was  known  as  The  Night  Nursery.  The  slice 
of  a  house  was  inhabited  by  the  very  pretty  Mrs.  Gareth- 
Lawless,  its  inordinate  rent  being  reluctantly  paid  by 
her — apparently  with  the  assistance  of  those  "ravens"  who 
are  expected  to  supply  the  truly  deserving.  The  rent  was 
inordinate  only  from  the  standpoint  of  one  regarding  it 
soberly  in  connection  with  the  character  of  the  house  itself 
which  was  a  gaudy  little  kennel  crowded  between  two 
comparatively  stately  mansions.  On  one  side  lived  an 
inordinately  rich  South  African  millionaire,  and  on  the 
other  an  inordinately  exalted  person  of  title,  which  facts 
combined  to  form  sufficient  grounds  for  a  certain  inordi- 
nateness  of  rent. 

Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  was  also,  it  may  be  stated,  of  the 
fibre  which  must  live  on  the  right  side  of  the  street  or 
dissolve  into  nothingness — since  as  nearly  nothingness  as 
an  embodied  entity  can  achieve  had  Nature  seemingly 
created  her  at  the  outset.  So  light  and  airy  was  the  fair, 
slim,  physical  presentation  of  her  being  to  the  earthly 
vision,  and  so  almost  impalpably  diaphanous  the  texture 
and  form  of  mind  and  character  to  be  observed  by  human 
perception,  that  among  such  friends — and  enemies — as  so 
slight  a  thing  could  claim  she  was  prettily  known  as 
"Feather".  Her  real  name,  "Amabel",  was  not  half  as 
charming  and  whimsical  in  its  appropriateness.  "Feather" 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   3 

she  adored  being  called  and  as  it  was  the  fashion  among 
the  amazing  if  amusing  circle  in  which  she  spent  her  life, 
to  call  its  acquaintances  fantastic  pet  names  selected  from 
among  the  world  of  birds,  beasts  and  fishes  or  inanimate 
objects — "Feather"  she  floated  through  her  curious  exist 
ence.  And  it  so  happened  that  she  was  the  mother  of  the 
child  who  so  often  stared  out  of  the  window  of  the  dingy 
and  comfortless  Day  Nursery,  too  much  a  child  to  be  more 
than  vaguely  conscious  in  a  chaotic  way  that  a  certain 
feeling  which  at  times  raged  within  her  and  made  her 
little  body  hot  and  restless  was  founded  on  something  like 
actual  hate  for  a  special  man  who  had  certainly  taken  no 
deliberate  steps  to  cause  her  detestation. 


"Feather"  had  not  been  called  by  that  delicious  name 
when  she  married  Robert  Gareth-Lawless  who  was  a 
beautiful  and  irresponsibly  rather  than  deliberately  bad 
young  man.  She  was  known  as  Amabel  Darrel  and  the 
loveliest  girl  in  the  lovely  corner  of  the  island  of  Jersey 
where  her  father,  a  country  doctor,  had  begotten  a  large 
family  of  lovely  creatures  and  brought  them  up  on  the  ap 
pallingly  inadequate  proceeds  of  his  totally  inadequate 
practice.  Pretty  female  things  must  be  disposed  of  early 
lest  their  market  value  decline.  Therefore  a  well-born 
young  man  even  without  obvious  resources  represents  a 
sail  in  the  offing  which  is  naturally  welcomed  as  possibly 
belonging  to  a  bark  which  may  at  least  bear  away  a  bur 
den  which  the  back  carrying  it  as  part  of  its  pack  will 
willingly  shuffle  on  to  other  shoulders.  It  is  all  very 
well  for  a  man  with  six  lovely  daughters  to  regard  them 
as  capital  if  he  has  money  or  position  or  generous  re 
lations  or  if  he  has  energy  and  an  ingenious  unfatigued 
mind.  But  a  man  who  is  tired  and  neither  clever  nor 


4   THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

important  in  any  degree  and  who  has  reared  his  brood  in 
one  of  the  Channel  Islands  with  a  faded,  silly,  unattractive 
wife  as  his  only  aid  in  any  difficulty,  is  wise  in  leaving  the 
whole  hopeless  situation  to  chance  and  luck.  Sometimes 
luck  comes  without  assistance  but — almost  invariably — it 
does  not. 

"Feather" — who  was  then  "Amabel" — thought  Robert 
Gareth-Lawless  incredible  good  luck.  He  only  drifted 
into  her  summer  by  merest  chance  because  a  friend's 
yacht  in  which  he  was  wandering  about  "came  in"  for 
supplies.  A  girl  Ariel  in  a  thin  white  frock  and  with  big 
larkspur  blue  eyes  yearning  at  you  under  her  flapping  hat 
as  she  answers  your  questions  about  the  best  road  to  some 
where  will  not  be  too  difficult  about  showing  the  way 
herself.  And  there  you  are  at  a  first-class  beginning. 

The  night  after  she  met  Gareth-Lawless  in  a  lane  whose 
banks  were  thick  with  bluebells,  Amabel  and  her  sister 
Alice  huddled  close  together  in  bed  and  talked  almost 
pantingly  in  whispers  over  the  possibilities  which  might 
reveal  themselves — God  willing — through  a  further 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Gareth-Lawless.  They  were  eager 
and  breathlessly  anxious  but  they  were  young — young  in 
their  eagerness  and  Amabel  was  full  of  delight  in  his  good 
looks. 

"He  is  so  handsome,  Alice,"  she  whispered  actually 
hugging  her,  not  with  affection  but  exultation.  "And  he 
can't  be  more  than  twenty-six  or  seven.  And  I'm  sure  he 
liked  me.  You  know  that  way  a  man  has  of  looking  at 
you — one  sees  it  even  in  a  place  like  this  where  there  are 
only  curates  and  things.  He  has  brown  eyes — like  dark 
bright  water  in  pools.  Oh,  Alice,  if  he  should!" 

Alice  was  not  perhaps  as  enthusiastic  as  her  sister. 
Amabel  had  seen  him  first  and  in  the  Barrel  household 
there  was  a  sort  of  unwritten,  not  always  observed  code 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   5 

flimsily  founded  on  "First  come  first  served/'  Just  at  the 
outset  of  an  acquaintance  one  might  say  "Hands  off"  as  it 
were.  But  not  for  long. 

"It  doesn't  matter  how  pretty  one  is  they  seldom  do," 
Alice  grumbled.  "And  he  mayn't  have  a  farthing." 

"Alice,"  whispered  Amabel  almost  agonizingly,  "I 
wouldn't  care  a  farthing — if  only  he  would!  Have  I  a 
farthing — have  you  a  farthing — has  anyone  who  ever 
comes  here  a  farthing?  He  lives  in  London.  He'd  take 
me  away.  To  live  even  in  a  back  street  in  London  would 
be  Heaven!  And  one  must — as  soon  as  one  possibly 
can. — One  must!  And  Oh  !"  with  another  hug  which  this 
time  was  a  shudder,  "think  of  what  Doris  Harmer  had  to 
do !  Think  of  his  thick  red  old  neck  and  his  horrid 
fatness!  And  the  way  he  breathed  through  his  nose. 
Doris  said  that  at  first  it  used  to  make  her  ill  to  look 
at  him." 

"She's  got  over  it,"  whispered  Alice.  "She's  almost  as 
fat  as  he  is  now.  And  she's  loaded  with  pearls  and 
things." 

"I  shouldn't  have  to  'get  over'  anything,"  said  Amabel, 
"if  this  one  would.  I  could  fall  in  love  with  him  in  a 
minute." 

"Did  you  hear  what  Father  said  ?"  Alice  brought  out  the 
words  rather  slowly  and  reluctantly.  She  was  not  eager 
on  the  whole  to  yield  up  a  detail  which  after  all  added 
glow  to  possible  prospects  which  from  her  point  of  view 
were  already  irritatingly  glowing.  Yet  she  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  of  excitement.  "No,  you  didn't  hear. 
You  were  out  of  the  room." 

"What  about  ?  Something  about  him  ?  I  hope  it  wasn't 
horrid.  How  could  it  be?" 

"He  said,"  Alice  drawled  with  a  touch  of  girlishly  spite 
ful  indifference,  "that  if  he  was  one  of  the  poor  Gareth- 


6   THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Lawlesses  he  hadn't  much  chance  of  succeeding  to  the  title. 
His  uncle — Lord  Lawdor — is  only  forty-five  and  he  has 
four  splendid  healthy  boys — perfect  little  giants." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  title.  How  splendid," 
exclaimed  Amabel  rapturously.  Then  after  a  few  moments' 
innocent  maiden  reflection  she  breathed  with  sweet  hope 
fulness  from  under  the  sheet,  "Children  so  often  have 
scarlet  fever  or  diphtheria,  and  you  know  they  say  those 
very  strong  ones  are  more  likely  to  die  than  the  other  kind. 
The  Vicar  of  Sheen  lost  four  all  in  a  week.  And  the 
Vicar  died  too.  The  doctor  said  the  diphtheria  wouldn't 
have  killed  him  if  the  shock  hadn't  helped." 

Alice — who  had  a  teaspoonful  more  brain  than  her  sister 
— burst  into  a  fit  of  giggling  it  was  necessary  to  smother 
by  stuffing  the  sheet  in  her  mouth. 

"Oh !  Amabel !"  she  gurgled.  "You  are  such  a  donkey ! 
You  would  have  been  silly  enough  to  say  that  even  if 
people  could  have  heard  you.  Suppose  he  had !" 

"Why  should  he  care,"  said  Amabel  simply.  "One  can't 
help  thinking  things.  If  it  happened  he  would  be  the 
Earl  of  Lawdor  and " 

She  fell  again  into  sweet  reflection  while  Alice  giggled 
a  little  more.  Then  she  herself  stopped  and  thought  also. 

After  all  perhaps !  One  had  to  be  practical.  The 

tenor  of  her  thoughts  was  such  that  she  did  not  giggle 
again  when  Amabel  broke  the  silence  by  whispering  with 
tremulous,  soft  devoutness. 

"Alice — do  you  think  that  praying  really  helps  ?" 

"I've  prayed  for  things  but  I  never  got  them,"  answered 
Alice.  "But  you  know  what  the  Vicar  said  on  Sunday  in 
his  sermon  about  'Ask  and  ye  shall  receive'/' 

"Perhaps  you  haven't  prayed  in  the  right  spirit," 
Amabel  suggested  with  true  piety.  "Shall  we — shall  we 
try  ?  Let  us  get  out  of  bed  and  kneel  down." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   7 

"Get  out  of  bed  and  kneel  down  yourself,"  was  Alice's 
unsympathetic  rejoinder.  "You  wouldn't  take  that  much 
trouble  for  me." 

Amabel  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  In  the  faint 
moonlight  and  her  white  night-gown  she  was  almost 
angelic.  She  held  the  end  of  the  long  fair  soft  plait 
hanging  over  her  shoulder  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
reproach. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  take  some  interest/'  she  said 
plaintively.  "You  know  there  would  be  more  chances  for 
you  and  the  others — if  I  were  not  here." 

"I'll  wait  until  you  are  not  here,"  replied  the  unstirred 
Alice. 

But  Amabel  felt  there  was  no  time  for  waiting  in  this 
particular  case.  A  yacht  which  "came  in"  might  so  soon 
"put  out".  She  knelt  down,  clasping  her  slim  young  hands 
and  bending  her  forehead  upon  them.  In  effect  she  im 
plored  that  Divine  Wisdom  might  guide  Mr.  Robert 
Gareth-Lawless  in  the  much  desired  path.  She  also  made 
divers  promises  because  nothing  is  so  easy  as  to  promise 
things.  She  ended  with  a  gently  fervent  appeal  that — if 
her  prayer  were  granted — something  "might  happen" 
which  would  result  in  her  becoming  a  Countess  of  Lawdor. 
One  could  not  have  put  the  request  with  greater  tentative 
delicacy. 

She  felt  quite  uplifted  and  a  trifle  saintly  when  she  rose 
from  her  knees.  Alice  had  actually  fallen  asleep  already 
and  she  sighed  quite  tenderly  as  she  slipped  into  the  place 
beside  her.  Almost  as  her  lovely  little  head  touched  the 
pillow  her  own  eyes  closed.  Then  she  was  asleep  herself — 
and  in  the  faintly  moonlit  room  with  the  long  soft  plait 
trailing  over  her  shoulder  looked  even  more  like  an  angel 
than  before. 


8   THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Whether  or  not  as  a  result  of  this  touching  appeal  to  the 
Throne  of  Grace,  Robert  Gareth-Lawless  did.  In  three 
months  there  was  a  wedding  at  the  very  ancient  village 
church  and  five  flowerlike  bridesmaids  followed  a  flower 
of  a  bride  to  the  altar  and  later  in  the  day  to  the  station 
from  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Gareth-Lawless  went 
on  their  way  to  London.  Perhaps  Alice  and  Olive  also 
knelt  by  the  side  of  their  white  beds  the  night  after 
the  wedding,  for  on  that  propitious  day  two  friends  of  the 
bridegroom's— one  of  them  the  owner  of  the  yacht — 
decided  to  return  again  to  the  place  where  there  were  to 
be  found  the  most  nymphlike  of  pretty  creatures  a  man 
had  ever  by  any  chance  beheld.  Such  delicate  little  fair 
crowned  heads,  such  delicious  little  tip-tilted  noses  and 
slim  white  throats,  such  ripples  of  gay  chatter  and  non 
sense  !  When  a  man  has  fortune  enough  of  his  own  why 
not  take  the  prettiest  thing  he  sees  ?  So  Alice  and  Olive 
were  borne  away  also  and  poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barrel 
breathed  sighs  of  relief  and  there  were  not  only  more 
chances  but  causes  for  bright  hopefulness  in  the  once 
crowded  house  which  now  had  rooms  to  spare. 

A  certain  inattention  on  the  part  of  the  Deity  was  no 
doubt  responsible  for  the  fact  that  "something"  did  not 
"happen"  to  the  family  of  Lord  Lawdor.  On  the  contrary 
his  four  little  giants  of  sons  throve  astonishingly  and  a 
few  months  after  the  Gareth-Lawless  wedding  Lady 
Lawdor — a  trifle  effusively  as  it  were — presented  her 
husband  with  twin  male  infants  so  robust  that  they  were 
humorously  known  for  years  afterwards  as  the  "Twin 
Herculeses." 

By  that  time  Annabel  had  become  "Feather"  and  despite 
Robert's  ingenious  and  carefully  detailed  method  of  living 
upon  nothing  whatever,  had  many  reasons  for  knowing 
that  "life  in  a  back  street  in  London"  is  not  a  matter  of 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   9 

beds  of  roses.  Since  the  back  street  must  be  the  "right 
street"  and  its  accompaniments  must  wear  an  aspect  of  at 
least  seeming  to  belong  to  the  right  order  of  detachment 
and  fashionable  ease,  one  was  always  in  debt  and  forced 
to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  duns,  and  obliged  to  pretend 
things  and  tell  lies  with  aptness  and  outward  gaiety. 
Sometimes  one  actually  was  so  far  driven  to  the  wall  that 
one  could  not  keep  most  important  engagements  and  the 
invention  of  plausible  excuses  demanded  absolute  genius. 
The  slice  of  a  house  between  the  two  big  ones  was  a  rash 
venture  of  the  honeymoon  but  a  year  of  giving  smart  little 
dinners  in  it  and  going  to  smart  big  dinners  from  it  in  a 
smart  if  small  brougham  ended  in  a  condition  somewhat 
akin  to  the  feat  of  balancing  oneself  on  the  edge  of  a 
sword. 

Then  Eobin  was  born.  She  was  an  intruder  and  a 
calamity  of  course.  Nobody  had  contemplated  her  for  a 
moment.  Feather  cried  for  a  week  when  she  first  an 
nounced  the  probability  of  her  advent.  Afterwards  how 
ever  she  managed  to  forget  the  approaching  annoyance  and 
went  to  parties  and  danced  to  the  last  hour  continuing  to 
be  a  great  success  because  her  prettiness  was  delicious  and 
her  diaphanous  mentality  was  no  strain  upon  the  minds  of 
her  admirers  male  and  female. 

That  a  Feather  should  become  a  parent  gave  rise  to 
much  wit  of  light  weight  when  Robin  in  the  form  of  a 
bundle  of  lace  was  carried  down  by  her  nurse  to  be  exhib 
ited  in  the  gaudy  crowded  little  drawing-room  in  the  slice 
of  a  house  in  the  Mayfair  street. 

It  was  the  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  who  asked  the 
first  question  about  her. 

"What  will  you  do  with  her  ?"  he  inquired  detachedly. 

The  frequently  referred  to  "babe  unborn'*  could  not  have 
presented  a  gaze  of  purer  innocence  than  did  the  lovely 


10  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Feather.  Her  eyes  of  larkspur  blueness  were  clear  of  any 
thought  or  intention  as  spring  water  is  clear  at  its 
unclouded  best. 

Her  ripple  of  a  laugh  was  clear  also — enchantingly  clear. 

"Do!"  she  repeated.  "What  is  it  people  'do'  with 
babies  ?  I  suppose  the  nurse  knows.  I  don't.  I  wouldn't 
touch  her  for  the  world.  She  frightens  me." 

She  floated  a  trifle  nearer  and  bent  to  look  at  her. 

"I  shall  call  her  Robin,"  she  said.  "Her  name  is  really 
Roberto  as  she  couldn't  be  called  Robert.  People  will  turn 
round  to  look  at  a  girl  when  they  hear  her  called  Robin. 
Besides  she  has  eyes  like  a  robin.  I  wish  she'd  open  them 
and  let  you  see." 

By  chance  she  did  open  them  at  the  moment — quite 
slowly.  They  were  dark  liquid  brown  and  seemed  to  be 
all  lustrous  iris  which  gazed  unmovingly  at  the  object  in 
line  of  focus.  That  object  was  the  Head  of  the  House  of 
Coombe. 

"She  is  staring  at  me.  There  is  antipathy  in  her  gaze/' 
he  said,  and  stared  back  unmovingly  also,  but  with  a  sort 
of  cold  interest. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  was  not  a  title 
to  be  found  in  Burke  or  Debrett.     It  was  a  fine 
irony  of  the  Head's  own  and  having  been  accepted 
by  his  acquaintances  was  not  infrequently  used  by  them  in 
their  light  moments  in  the  same   spirit.     The  peerage 
recorded  him  as  a  Marquis  and  added  several  lesser  atten 
dant  titles. 

"When  English  society  was  respectable,  even  to  stod- 
giness  at  times,"  was  his  point  of  view,  "to  be  born  'the 
Head  of  the  House'  was  a  weighty  and  awe-inspiring  thing. 
In  fearful  private  denunciatory  interviews  with  one's 
parents  and  governors  it  was  brought  up  against  one  as  a 
final  argument  against  immoral  conduct  such  as  debt  and 
not  going  to  church.  As  the  Head  of  the  House  one  was 
called  upon  to  be  an  Example.  In  the  country  one 
appeared  in  one's  pew  and  announced  oneself  a  'miserable 
sinner'  in  loud  tones,  one  had  to  invite  the  rector  to  dinner 
with  regularity  and  'the  ladies'  of  one's  family  gave  tea 
and  flannel  petticoats  and  baby  clothes  to  cottagers.  Men 
and  women  were  known  as  ladies'  and  'gentlemen'  in  those 
halcyon  days.  One  Represented  things — Parties  in  Parlia 
ment — Benevolent  Societies,  and  British  Hospitality  in 
the  form  of  astounding  long  dinners  at  which  one  drank 
healths  and  made  speeches.  In  roseate  youth  one  danced 
the  schottische  and  the  polka  and  the  round  waltz  which 
Lord  Byron  denounced  as  indecent.  To  recall  the  vigour 
of  his  poem  gives  rise  to  a  smile — when  one  chances  to 
sup  at  a  cabaret." 

11 


12  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

He  was  considered  very  amusing  when  he  analyzed  his 
own  mental  attitude  towards  his  world  in  general. 

"I  was  born  somewhat  too  late  and  somewhat  too  early/' 
he  explained  in  his  light,  rather  cold  and  detached  way. 
"I  was  born  and  educated  at  the  closing  of  one  era  and  have 
been  obliged  to  adjust  myself  to  living  in  another.  I  was 
as  it  were  cradled  among  treasured  relics  of  the  ethics  of 
the  Georges  and  Queen  Charlotte,  and  Queen  Victoria  in 
her  bloom.  /  was  in  my  bloom  in  the  days  when  'ladies' 
were  reproved  for  wearing  dresses  cut  too  low  at  Drawing 
Eooms.  Such  training  gives  curious  interest  to  fashions 
in  which  bodices  are  unconsidered  trifles  and  Greek 
nymphs  who  dance  with  bare  feet  and  beautiful  bare  legs 
may  be  one's  own  relations.  I  trust  I  do  not  seem  even 
in  the  shadowiest  way  to  comment  unfavourably.  I 
merely  look  on  at  the  rapidities  of  change  with  unalloyed 
interest.  As  the  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  I  am  not 
sure  what  I  am  an  Example  of — or  to.  Which  is  why  I 
at  times  regard  myself  in  that  capacity  with  a  slightly 
ribald  lightness." 

The  detachment  of  his  question  with  regard  to  the  new 
born  infant  of  the  airily  irresponsible  Feather  was  in 
entire  harmony  with  his  attitude  towards  the  singular 
incident  of  Life  as  illustrated  by  the  World,  the  Flesh  and 
the  Devil  by  none  of  which  he  was — as  far  as  could  be 
observed — either  impressed,  disturbed  or  prejudiced.  His 
own  experience  had  been  richly  varied  and  practically 
unlimited  in  its  opportunities  for  pleasure,  sinful  or  unsin- 
ful  indulgence,  mitigated  or  unmitigated  wickedness,  the 
gathering  of  strange  knowledge,  and  the  possible  ignoring 
of  all  dull  boundaries.  This  being  the  case  a  superhuman 
charity  alone  could  have  forborne  to  believe  that  his  oppor 
tunities  had  been  neglected  in  the  heyday  of  his  youth. 
Wealth  and  lack  of  limitations  in  themselves  would  have 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   13 

been  quite  enough  to  cause  the  Nonconformist  Victorian 
mind  to  regard  a  young — or  middle-aged — male  as  likely 
to  represent  a  fearsome  moral  example,  but  these  three 
temptations  combined  with  good  looks  and  a  certain 
mental  brilliance  were  so  inevitably  the  concomitants  of 
elegant  iniquity  that  the  results  might  be  taken  for 
granted. 

That  the  various  worlds  in  which  he  lived  in  various 
lands  accepted  him  joyfully  as  an  interesting  and  desirable 
if  more  or  less  abominably  sinful  personage,  the  Head  of 
the  House  of  Coombe — even  many  years  before  he  became 
its  head — regarded  with  the  detachment  which  he  had, 
even  much  earlier,  begun  to  learn.  Why  should  it  be  in  the 
least  matter  what  people  thought  of  one  ?  Why  should  it 
in  the  least  matter  what  one  thought  of  oneself — and  there 
fore  why  should  one  think  at  all?  He  had  begun  at  the 
outset  a  brilliantly  happy  young  pagan  with  this  simple 
theory.  After  the  passing  of  some  years  he  had  not  been 
quite  so  happy  but  had  remained  quite  as  pagan  and 
retained  the  theory  which  had  lost  its  first  fine  careless 
rapture  and  gained  a  secret  bitterness.  He  had  not 
married  and  innumerable  stories  were  related  to  explain 
the  reason  why.  They  were  most  of  them  quite  false  and 
none  of  them  quite  true.  When  he  ceased  to  be  a  young 
man  his  delinquency  was  much  discussed,  more  especially 
when  his  father  died  and  he  took  his  place  as  the  head  of 
his  family.  He  was  old  enough,  rich  enough,  important 
enough  for  marriage  to  be  almost  imperative.  But  he 
remained  unmarried.  In  addition  he  seemed  to  consider 
his  abstinence  entirely  an  affair  of  his  own. 

"Are  you  as  wicked  as  people  say  you  are?"  a  reckless 
young  woman  once  asked  him.  She  belonged  to  the 
younger  set  which  was  that  season  trying  recklessness,  in 
a  tentative  way,  at?  a  new  fashion. 


r    73Z  Tr^-~  :r  TZZ  Z:TSI  :  •  :    : 

-:  ?-__-  •:  i  -  ^  -    :-  ^  r    i_±.^:  - 


:ZL  vm  IZL 


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1  - 


. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE     15 


~  _  -      ;     _"-    ^~_     _ri  »  —  .T 

InvwET  tm^  he  possessed 
vioch  w  not  a  rag-tag  fiBed  vith 
cokwred  iiiiiiiiiili,  bat  a  lazge  and  crdcrir 
contents  -were  catalogued  aad  filed  and 
He  vas  also  given  to  the 
&00VE  &  point  to  its  coneisBGB.  at  a 
mind.  He  sav  and  kn-ev  veil  those  •viw  set 
vish  knit  bixnrs  and  caiaiaash-  bcn-ering  band  *i  tie  great 
lima  hoarfl  atii "Ti  i  fnnaiil  aj  fit  "Miy  «f  Ttarapr  He 
f  •_  «nd  an  CBMBMBB  istenst  in  'vstdaBg  tihor  pby.  It 
v&=  Ms  ff>TTTTTv>  as  a  resali  of  fri*  postkzi  to  kzt0w  peraaeK 
- ;.  -  :-  .r  -  _;  _i  i  :  _i"_ri_  _  i--~  .1  «• :  --  _.  --  :~ 

~  _.  "     ~—  7.--  "j-  _ " j-  -_.  r~-~-i         "_- 

the  head  and  ti»e  bending  of  the  tnec. 
'_  £   _•  ':.-  ~  ~  -   ~:.- 

•    - 

such  personares  stood  first 
had  r«een  in  its  almost 
sort  of  thtEnderboit  passing 
at  the  time  spoken  of  it  only  to 

"I  have  no  moral  or  ethical  liuu  to  offer,*  he  bad 
-I  only  Me.  The  thing— as  it  iii  ^Jl  disintegrate.  I 
am  so  at  aea  as  to  -what  viH  take  its  place  that  I  fed  as 
if  the  jii  imftt  t  were  n&er  !••  i  Mi  One  has  had  the  oid 
landmarks  and  been.  KfnMBJL  \n  the  aid 
pactxres^paenen  sc'  miny  cgni^nss,  T^.&T  CD* 
the  earth  Tithoct  theau  Pate  hare  been  kings  e 

B 

the  Cinnib&I  Islands.11 

As  a  statesman  or  a  d^iowat  ke  vnii  bare  « 
but  he  had  been  too  mack  occupied  witk  life 

-  ---^.L  ^.-. .:     -        ~  .:--ii  __T-L:    :::  -   -£      :    _: 
He  freely  admitted  to  himaelf  that  be 
r-erscn  b^t  the  fact  fid  not  &tazb  aim.    Baring 


16  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

born  with  a  certain  order  of  brain  it  observed  and  worked 
in  spite  of  him,  thereby  adding  flavour  and  interest  to 
existence.  But  that  was  all. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  as  the  years  passed  he  quite 
enjoyed  the  fact  that  he  knew  he  was  rarely  spoken  of 
to  a  stranger  without  its  being  mentioned  that  he  was  the 
most  perfectly  dressed  man  in  London.  He  rather  de 
tested  the  idea  though  he  was  aware  that  the  truth  was 
unimpeachable.  The  perfection  of  his  accompaniments 
had  arisen  in  his  youth  from  a  secret  feeling  for  fitness 
and  harmony.  Texture  and  colour  gave  him  almost  ab 
normal  pleasure.  His  expression  of  this  as  a  masculine 
creature  had  its  limits  which  resulted  in  a  concentration 
on  perfection.  Even  at  five-and-twenty  however  he  had 
never  been  called  a  dandy  and  teven  at  five-and-forty  no 
one  had  as  yet  hinted  at  Beau  Brummel  though  by  that 
time  men  as  well  as  women  frequently  described  to  each 
other  the  cut  and  colour  of  the  garments  he  wore,  and 
tailors  besought  him  to  honour  them  with  crumbs  of  his 
patronage  in  the  ambitious  hope  that  they  might  mention 
him  as  a  client.  And  the  simple  fact  that  he  appeared  in 
a  certain  colour  or  cut  set  it  at  once  on  its  way  to  become 
a  fashion  to  be  seized  upon,  worn  and  exaggerated  until 
it  was  dropped  suddenly  by  its  originator  and  lost  in  the 
oblivion  of  cheap  imitations  and  cheap  tailor  shops.  The 
first  exaggeration  of  the  harmony  he  had  created  and  the 
original  was  seen  no  more. 

Feather  herself  had  a  marvellous  trick  in  the  collecting 
of  her  garments.  It  was  a  trick  which  at  times  barely 
escaped  assuming  the  proportions  of  absolute  creation. 
Her  passion  for  self-adornment  expressed  itself  in  ingen 
ious  combination  and  quite  startling  uniqueness  of  line 
now  and  then.  Her  slim  fairness  and  ash-gold  gossamer 
hair  carried  airily  strange  tilts  and  curves  of  little  or  large 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  17 

hats  or  daring  tints  other  women  could  not  sustain  but 
invariably  strove  to  imitate  however  disastrous  the  results. 
Beneath  soft  drooping  or  oddly  flopping  brims  hopelessly 
unbecoming  to  most  faces  hers  looked  out  quaintly  lovely 
as  a  pictured  child's  wearing  its  grandmother's  bonnet. 
Everything  draped  itself  about  or  clung  to  her  in  entranc 
ing  folds  which  however  whimsical  were  never  gro 
tesque. 

"Things  are  always  becoming  to  me,"  she  said  quite 
simply.  "But  often  I  stick  a  few  pins  into  a  dress  to  tuck 
it  up  here  and  there,  or  if  I  give  a  hat  a  poke  somewhere 
to  make  it  crooked,  they  are  much  more  becoming.  People 
are  always  asking  me  how  I  do  it  but  I  don't  know  how. 
I  bought  a  hat  from  Cerise  last  week  and  I  gave  it  two 
little  thumps  with  my  fist — one  in  the  crown  and  one  in 
the  brim  and  they  made  it  wonderful.  The  maid  of  the 
most  grand  kind  of  person  tried  to  find  out  from  my  maid 
where  I  bought  it.  I  wouldn't  let  her  tell  of  course." 

She  created  fashions  and  was  imitated  as  was  the  Head 
of  the  House  of  Coombe  but  she  was  enraptured  by  the  fact 
and  the  entire  power  of  such  gray  matter  as  was  held  by 
her  small  brain  cells  was  concentrated  upon  her  desire  to 
evolve  new  fantasies  and  amazements  for  her  world. 

Before  he  had  been  married  for  a  year  there  began  to 
creep  into  the  mind  of  Bob  Gareth-Lawless  a  fearsome 
doubt  remotely  hinting  that  she  might  end  by  becoming  an 
awful  bore  in  the  course  of  time — particularly  if  she  also 
ended  by  being  less  pretty.  She  chattered  so  incessantly 
about  nothing  and  was  such  an  empty-headed,  extravagant 
little  fool  in  her  insistence  on  clothes — clothes — clothes — 
as  if  they  were  the  breath  of  life.  After  watching  her  for 
about  two  hours  one  morning  as  she  sat  before  her  mirror 
directing  her  maid  to  arrange  and  re-arrange  her  hair  in 
different  styles — in  delicate  puffs  and  curls  and  straying 


18  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

rings — in  smooth  soft  bands  and  loops — in  braids  and 
coils — he  broke  forth  into  an  uneasy  short  laugh  and 
expressed  himself — though  she  did  not  know  he  was 
expressing  himself  and  would  not  have  understood  him 
if  she  had. 

"If  you  have  a  soul — and  I'm  not  at  all  certain  you 
have — "  he  saj.d,  "it's  divided  into  a  dressmaker's  and  a 
hairdresser's  and  a  milliner's  shop.  It's  full  of  tumbled 
piles  of  hats  and  frocks  and  diamond  combs.  It's  an 
awful  mess,  Feather." 

"I  hope  it's  a  shoe  shop  and  a  jeweller's  as  well,"  she 
laughed  quite  gaily.  "And  a  lace-maker's.  I  need  every 
one  of  them." 

"It's  a  rag  shop,"  he  said.  "It  has  nothing  but  chiffons 
in  it." 

"If  ever  I  do  think  of  souls  I  think  of  them  as  silly 
gauzy  things  floating  about  like  little  balloons,"  was  her 
cheerful  response. 

"That's  an  idea,"  he  answered  with  a  rather  louder 
laugh.  "Yours  might  be  made  of  pink  and  blue  gauze 
spangled  with  those  things  you  call  paillettes." 

The  fancy  attracted  her. 

"If  I  had  one  like  that" — with  a  pleased  creative  air, 
"it  would  look  rather  ducky  floating  from  my  shoulder — 
or  even  my  hat — or  my  hair  in  the  evenings,  just  held  by 
a  tiny  sparkling  chain  fastened  with  a  diamond  pin — and 
with  lovely  little  pink  and  blue  streamers."  With  the 
touch  of  genius  she  had  at  once  relegated  it  to  its  place 
in  the  scheme  of  her  universe.  And  Robert  laughed  even 
louder  than  before. 

"You  mustn't  make  me  laugh,"  she  said  holding  up  her 
hand.  "I  am  having  my  hair  done  to  match  that  quakery 
thin  pale  mousey  dress  with  the  tiny  poke  bonnet — and  I 
want  to  try  my  face  too.  I  must  look  sweet  and  demure. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  19 

You  mustn't  really  laugh  when  you  wear  a  dress  and  hat 
like  that.  You  must  only  smile." 

Some  months  earlier  Bob  would  have  found  it  difficult 
to  believe  that  she  said  this  entirely  without  any  touch  of 
humour  but  he  realized  now  that  it  was  so  said.  He  had 
some  sense  of  humour  of  his  own  and  one  of  his  reasons 
for  vaguely  feeling  that  she  might  become  a  bore  was  that 
she  had  none  whatever. 

It  was  at  the  garden  party  where  she  wore  the  thin 
quakery  mousey  dress  and  tiny  poke  bonnet  that  the  Head 
of  the  House  of  Coombe  first  saw  her.  It  was  at  the 
place  of  a  fashionable  artist  who  lived  at  Hampstead  and 
had  a  garden  and  a  few  fine  old  trees.  It  had  been 
Feather's  special  intention  to  strike  this  note  of  delicate 
dim  colour.  Every  other  woman  was  blue  or  pink  or 
yellow  or  white  or  flowered  and  she  in  her  filmy  coolness 
of  unusual  hue  stood  out  exquisitely  among  them.  Other 
heads  wore  hats  broad  or  curved  or  flopping,  hers  looked 
like  a  little  nun's  or  an  imaginary  portrait  of  a  delicious 
young  great-grandmother.  She  was  more  arresting  than 
any  other  female  creature  on  the  emerald  sward  or  under 
the  spreading  trees. 

When  Coombe's  eyes  first  fell  upon  her  he  was  talking 
to  a  group  of  people  and  he  stopped  speaking.  Someone 
standing  quite  near  him  said  afterwards  that  he  had  for 
a  second  or  so  become  pale — almost  as  if  he  saw  something 
which  frightened  him. 

"Who  is  that  under  the  copper  beech — being  talked  to 
by  Harlow?"  he  inquired. 

Feather  was  in  fact  listening  with  a  gentle  air  and  with 
her  eyelids  down  drooped  to  the  exact  line  harmonious 
with  the  angelic  little  poke  bonnet. 

"It  is  Mrs.  Robert  Gareth-Lawless — 'Feather*  we  call 
her,"  he  was  answered.  "Was  there  ever  anything  more 


20  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

artful  than  that  startling  little  smoky  dress?  If  it  was 
flame  colour  one  wouldn't  see  it  as  quickly." 

"One  wouldn't  look  at  it  as  long,"  said  Coombe.  "One 
is  in  danger  of  staring.  And  the  little  hat — or  bonnet — 
which  pokes  and  is  fastened  under  her  pink  ear  by  a  satin 
bow  held  by  a  loose  pale  bud!  Will  someone  rescue  me 
from  staring  by  leading  me  to  her.  It  won't  be  staring 
if  I  am  talking  to  her.  Please." 

The  paleness  appeared  again  as  on  being  led  across  the 
grass  he  drew  nearer  to  the  copper  beech.  He  was  still 
rather  pale  when  Feather  lifted  her  eyes  to  him.  Her 
eyes  were  so  shaped  by  Nature  that  they  looked  like  an 
angel's  when  they  were  lifted.  There  are  eyes  of  that 
particular  cut.  But  he  had  not  talked  to  her  fifteen 
minutes  before  he  knew  that  there  was  no  real  reason  why 
he  should  ever  again  lose  his  colour  at  the  sight  of  her.  He 
had  thought  at  first  there  was.  With  the  perception  which 
invariably  marked  her  sense  of  fitness  of  things  she  had 
begun  in  the  course  of  the  fifteen  minutes — almost  before 
the  colour  had  quite  returned  to  his  face — the  story  of  her 
husband's  idea  of  her  soul,  as  a  balloon  of  pink  and  blue 
gauze  spangled  with  paillettes.  And  of  her  own  inspira 
tion  of  wearing  it  floating  from  her  shoulder  or  her  hair 
by  the  light  sparkling  chain — and  with  delicate  ribbon 
streamers.  She  was  much  delighted  with  his  laugh — 
though  she  thought  it  had  a  rather  cracked,  harsh  sound. 
She  knew  he  was  an  important  person  and  she  always  felt 
she  was  being  a  success  when  people  laughed. 

"Exquisite !"  he  said.  "I  shall  never  see  you  in  the 
future,  without  it.  But  wouldn't  it  be  necessary  to  vary 
the  colour  at  times  ?" 

"Oh!  Yes — to  match  things,"  seriously.  "I  couldn't 
wear  a  pink  and  blue  one  with  this — "  glancing  over  the 
smoky  mousey  thing  " — or  paillettes" 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  21 

"Oh,  no — not  paillettes,"  he  agreed  almost  with  gravity, 
the  harsh  laugh  having  ended. 

"One  couldn't  imagine  the  exact  colour  in  a  moment. 
One  would  have  to  think,"  she  reflected.  "Perhaps  a 
misty  dim  bluey  thing — like  the  edge  of  a  rain-cloud — 
scarcely  a  colour  at  all." 

For  an  instant  her  eyes  were  softly  shadowed  as  if  look 
ing  into  a  dream.  He  watched  her  fixedly  then.  A 
woman  who  was  a  sort  of  angel  might  look  like  that  when 
she  was  asking  herself  how  much  her  pure  soul  might 
dare  to  pray  for.  Then  he  laughed  again  and  Feather 
laughed  also. 

Many  practical  thoughts  had  already  begun  to  follow 
each  other  hastily  through  her  mind.  It  would  be  the 
best  possible  thing  for  them  if  he  really  admired  her.  Bob 
was  having  all  sorts  of  trouble  with  people  they  owed 
money  to.  Bills  were  sent  in  again  and  again  and  dis 
agreeable  letters  were  written.  Her  dressmaker  and 
milliner  had  given  her  most  rude  hints  which  could  indeed 
be  scarcely  considered  hints  at  all.  She  scarcely  dared 
speak  to  their  smart  young  footman  who  she  knew  had 
only  taken  the  place  in  the  slice  of  a  house  because  he  had 
been  told  that  it  might  be  an  opening  to  better  things. 
She  did  not  know  the  exact  summing  up  at  the  agency 
had  been  as  follows: 

"They're  a  good  looking  pair  and  he's  Lord  Lawdor's 
nephew.  They're  bound  to  have  their  fling  and  smart 
people  will  come  to  their  house  because  she's  so  pretty. 
They'll  last  two  or  three  years  perhaps  and  you'll  open  the 
door  to  the  kind  of  people  who  remember  a  well  set-up 
young  fellow  if  he  shows  he  knows  his  work  above  the 
usual/' 

The  more  men  of  the  class  of  the  Head  of  the  House  of 
Coombe  who  came  in  and  out  of  the  slice  of  a  house  the 


22  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

more  likely  the  owners  of  it  were  to  get  good  invitations 
and  continued  credit,  Feather  was  aware.  Besides  which, 
she  thought  ingenuously,  if  he  was  rich  he  would  no  doubt 
lend  Bob  money.  She  had  already  known  that  certain 
men  who  liked  her  had  done  it.  She  did  not  mind  it  at 
all.  One  was  obliged  to  have  money. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  acquaintance  which  gave 
rise  to  much  argument  over  tea-cups  and  at  dinner  parties 
and  in  boudoirs — even  in  corners  of  Feather's  own  gaudy 
little  drawing-room.  The  argument  regarded  the  degree 
of  Coombe's  interest  in  her.  There  was  always  curiosity 
as  to  the  degree  of  his  interest  in  any  woman — especially 
and  privately  on  the  part  of  the  woman  herself.  Casual  and 
shallow  observers  said  he  was  quite  infatuated  if  such  a 
thing  were  possible  to  a  man  of  his  temperament ;  the  more 
concentrated  of  mind  said  it  was  not  possible  to  a  man  of 
his  temperament  and  that  any  attraction  Feather  might 
have  for  him  was  of  a  kind  special  to  himself  and  that  he 
alone  could  explain  it — and  he  would  not. 

Remained  however  the  fact  that  he  managed  to  see  a 
great  deal  of  her.  It  might  be  said  that  he  even  rather 
followed  her  about  and  more  than  one  among  the  specially 
concentrated  of  mind  had  seen  him  on  occasion  stand  apart 
a  little  and  look  at  her — watch  her — with  an  expression 
suggesting  equally  profound  thought  and  the  profound 
intention  to  betray  his  private  meditations  in  no  degree. 
There  was  no  shadow  of  profundity  of  thought  in  his  treat 
ment  of  her.  He  talked  to  her  as  she  best  liked  to  be 
talked  to  about  herself,  her  successes  and  her  clothes  which 
were  more  successful  than  anything  else.  He  went  to  the 
little  but  exceedingly  lively  dinners  the  Gareth-Lawlesses 
gave  and  though  he  was  understood  not  to  be  fond  of 
dancing  now  and  then  danced  with  her  at  balls. 

Feather  was  guilelessly  doubtless  concerning  him.     She 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  23 

was  quite  sure  that  he  was  in  love  with  her.  Her  idea  of 
that  universal  emotion  was  that  it  was  a  matter  of  clothes 
and  propinquity  and  loveliness  and  that  if  one  were  at  all 
clever  one  got  things  one  wanted  as  a  result  of  it.  Her 
overwhelming  affection  for  Bob  and  his  for  her  had  given 
her  life  in  London  and  its  entertaining  accompaniments. 
Her  frankness  in  the  matter  of  this  desirable  capture  when 
she  talked  to  her  husband  was  at  once  light  and  friendly. 

"Of  course  you  will  be  able  to  get  credit  at  his  tailor's 
as  you  know  him  so  well,"  she  said.  "When  I  persuaded 
him  to  go  with  me  to  Madame  Helene's  last  week  she  was 
quite  amiable.  He  helped  me  to  choose  six  dresses  and  I 
believe  she  would  have  let  me  choose  six  more." 

"Does  she  think  he  is  going  to  pay  for  them?"  asked 
Bob. 

"Tt  doesn't  matter  what  she  thinks";  Feather  laughed 
very  prettily. 

"Doesn't  it?" 

"Not  a  bit.  I  shall  have  the  dresses.  What's  the 
matter,  Eob  ?  You  look  quite  red  and  cross." 

"I've  had  a  headache  for  three  days,"  he  answered,  "and 
I  feel  hot  and  cross.  I  don't  care  about  a  lot  of  things 
you  say,  Feather." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  retorted.  "I  don't  care  about  a  lot 
of  things  you  say — and  do,  too,  for  the  matter  of  that." 

Kobert  Gareth-Lawless  who  was  sitting  on  a  chair  in 
her  dressing-room  grunted  slightly  as  he  rubbed  his  red 
and  flushed  forehead. 

"There's  a — sort  of  limit,"  he  commented.  He  hesitated 
a  little  before  he  added  sulkily  " — to  the  things  one — 
says." 

"That  sounds  like  Alice,"  was  her  undisturbed  answer. 
"She  used  to  squabble  at  me  because  I  said  things.  But 
I  believe  one  of  the  reasons  people  like  me  is  because  I 


24  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

make  them  laugh  by  saying  things.  Lord  Coombe  laughs. 
He  is  a  very  good  person  to  know,"  she  added  practically. 
"Somehow  he  counts.  Don't  you  recollect  how  before  we 
knew  him — when  he  was  abroad  so  long — people  used  to 
bring  him  into  their  talk  as  if  they  couldn't  help  remem 
bering  him  and  what  he  was  like.  I  knew  quite  a  lot 
about  him — about  his  cleverness  and  his  manners  and  his 
way  of  keeping  women  off  without  being  rude — and  the 
things  he  says  about  royalties  and  the  aristocracy  going 
out  of  fashion.  And  about  his  clothes.  I  adore  his 
clothes.  And  I'm  convinced  he  adores  mine." 

She  had  in  fact  at  once  observed  his  clothes  as  he  had 
crossed  the  grass  to  her  seat  under  the  copper  beech.  She 
had  seen  that  his  fine  thinness  was  inimitably  fitted  and 
presented  itself  to  the  eye  as  that  final  note  of  perfect  line 
which  ignores  any  possibility  of  comment.  He  did  not 
wear  things — they  were  expressions  of  his  mental  subtle 
ties.  Feather  on  her  part  knew  that  she  wore  her  clothes 
— carried  them  about  with  her — however  beautifully. 

"I  like  him,"  she  went  on.  "I  don't  know  anything 
about  political  parties  and  the  state  of  Europe  so  I  don't 
understand  the  things  he  says  which  people  think  are  so 
brilliant,  but  I  like  him.  He  isn't  really  as  old  as  I 
thought  he  was  the  first  day  I  saw  him.  He  had  a  hag 
gard  look  about  his  mouth  and  eyes  then.  He  looked  as 
if  a  spangled  pink  and  blue  gauze  soul  with  little  floating 
streamers  was  a  relief  to  him." 

The  child  Eobin  was  a  year  old  by  that  time  and 
staggered  about  uncertainly  in  the  dingy  little  Day 
Nursery  in  which  she  passed  her  existence  except  on  such 
occasions  as  her  nurse — who  had  promptly  fallen  in  love 
with  the  smart  young  footman — carried  her  down  to  the 
dark  kitchen  and  Servants'  Hall  in  the  basement  where 
there  was  an  earthy  smell  and  an  abundance  of  cockroaches. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   25 

The  Servants'  Hall  had  been  given  that  name  in  the 
catalogue  of  the  fashionable  agents  who  let  the  house  and 
it  was  as  cramped  and  grimy  as  the  two  top-floor  nur 
series. 

The  next  afternoon  Robert  Gareth-Lawless  staggered 
into  his  wife's  drawing-room  and  dropped  on  to  a  sofa 
staring  at  her  and  breathing  hard. 

"Feather!"  he  gasped.  "Don't  know  what's  up  with 
me.  I  believe  I'm — awfully  ill!  I  can't  see  straight. 
Can't  think." 

He  fell  over  sidewise  on  to  the  cushions  so  helplessly 
that  Feather  sprang  at  him. 

"Don't,  Rob,  don't !"  she  cried  in  actual  anguish.  "Lord 
Coombe  is  taking  us  to  the  opera  and  to  supper  afterwards. 

I'm  going  to  wear "  She  stopped  speaking  to  shake 

him  and  try  to  lift  his  head.  "Oh !  do  try  to  sit  up,"  she 
begged  pathetically.  "Just  try.  Don't  give  up  till  after 
wards."  But  she  could  neither  make  him  sit  up  nor  make 
him  hear.  He  lay  back  heavily  with  his  mouth  open, 
breathing  stertorously  and  quite  insensible. 

It  happened  that  the  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  was 
announced  at  that  very  moment  even  as  she  stood  wringing 
her  hands  over  the  sofa. 

He  went  to  her  side  and  looked  at  Gareth-Lawless. 

"Have  you  sent  for  a  doctor?"  he  inquired. 

"He's — only  just  done  it !"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  more 
than  I  can  bear.  You  said  the  Prince  would  be  at  the 
supper  after  the  opera  and " 

"Were  you  thinking  of  going  ?"  he  put  it  to  her  quietly. 

"I  shall  have  to  send  for  a  nurse  of  course "  she 

began.  He  went  so  far  as  to  interrupt  her. 

"You  had  better  not  go — if  you'll  pardon  my  saying  so," 
he  suggested. 

"Not  go?    Not  go  at  all?"  she  wailed. 


26  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Not  go  at  all/'  was  his  answer.  And  there  was  such 
entire  lack  of  encouragement  in  it  that  Feather  sat  down 
and  burst  into  sobs. 

In  less  than  two  weeks  Eobert  was  dead  and  she  was  left 
a  lovely  penniless  widow  with  a  child. 


CHAPTER  III 

TWO  or  three  decades  earlier  the  prevailing  senti 
ment  would  have  been  that  "poor  little  Mrs.  Gareth- 
Lawless"  and  her  situation  were  pathetic.  Her 
acquaintances  would  sympathetically  have  discussed  her 
helplessness  and  absolute  lack  of  all  resource.  So  very 
pretty,  so  young,  the  mother  of  a  dear  little  girl — left 
with  no  income!  How  very  sad!  What  could  she  do? 
The  elect  would  have  paid  her  visits  and  sitting  in  her 
darkened  drawing-room  earnestly  besought  her  to  trust 
to  her  Maker  and  suggested  "the  Scriptures"  as  suitable 
reading.  Some  of  them — rare  and  strange  souls  even  in 
their  time — would  have  known  what  they  meant  and  meant 
what  they  said  in  a  way  they  had  as  yet  only  the  power  to 
express  through  the  medium  of  a  certain  shibboleth,  the 
rest  would  have  used  the  same  forms  merely  because 
shibboleth  is  easy  and  always  safe  and  creditable. 

But  to  Feather's  immediate  circle  a  multiplicity  of 
engagements,  fevers  of  eagerness  in  the  attainment  of 
pleasures  and  ambitions,  anxieties,  small  and  large  terrors, 
and  a  whirl  of  days  left  no  time  for  the  regarding  of 
pathetic  aspects.  The  tiny  house  up  whose  staircase — 
tucked  against  a  wall — one  had  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of 
crowding  even  when  one  went  alone  to  make  a  call,  sud 
denly  ceased  to  represent  hilarious  little  parties  which 
were  as  entertaining  as  they  were  up  to  date  and  noisy. 
The  most  daring  things  London  gossiped  about  had  been 
said  and  done  and  worn  there.  Novel  social  ventures  had 
been  tried — dancing  and  songs  which  seemed  almost  start- 

87 


28  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

ling  at  first — but  which  were  gradually  being  generally 
adopted.  There  had  always  been  a  great  deal  of  laughing 
and  talking  of  nonsense  and  the  bandying  of  jokes  and 
catch  phrases.  And  Feather  fluttering  about  and  saying 
delicious,  silly  things  at  which  her  hearers  shouted  with 
glee.  Such  a  place  could  not  suddenly  become  pathetic. 
It  seemed  almost  indecent  for  Robert  Gareth-Lawless  to 
have  dragged  Death  nakedly  into  their  midst — to  have 
died  in  his  bed  in  one  of  the  little  bedrooms,  to  have  been 
put  in  his  coffin  and  carried  down  the  stairs  scraping  the 
wall,  and  sent  away  in  a  hearse.  Nobody  could  bear  to 
think  of  it. 

Feather  could  bear  it  less  than  anybody  else.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  such  a  trick  could  have  been  played  her. 
She  shut  herself  up  in  her  stuffy  little  bedroom  with  its 
shrimp  pink  frills  and  draperies  and  cried  lamentably. 
At  first  she  cried  as  a  child  might  who  was  suddenly 
snatched  away  in  the  midst  of  a  party.  Then  she  began 
to  cry  because  she  was  frightened.  Numbers  of  cards 
"with  sympathy"  had  been  left  at  the  front  door  during  the 
first  week  after  the  funeral,  they  had  accumulated  in  a 
pile  on  the  salver  but  very  few  people  had  really  come  to 
see  her  and  while  she  knew  they  had  the  excuse  of  her 
recent  bereavement  she  felt  that  it  made  the  house  ghastly. 
It  had  never  been  silent  and  empty.  Things  had  always 
been  going  on  and  now  there  was  actually  not  a  sound  to 
be  heard — no  one  going  up  and  down  stairs — Rob's  room 
cleared  of  all  his  belongings  and  left  orderly  and  empty — 
the  drawing-room  like  a  gay  little  tomb  without  an  occu 
pant.  How  long  would  it  be  before  it  would  be  full  of 
people  again — how  long  must  she  wait  before  she  could 
decently  invite  anyone? — It  was  really  at  this  point  that 
fright  seized  upon  her.  Her  brain  was  not  given  to 
activities  of  reasoning  and  followed  no  thought  far.  She 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  29 

had  not  begun  to  ask  herself  questions  as  to  ways  ancf 
means.  Eob  had  been  winning  at  cards  and  had  borrowed 
some  money  from  a  new  acquaintance  so  no  immediate 
abyss  had  yawned  at  her  feet.  But  when  the  thought  of 
future  festivities  rose  before  her  a  sudden  check  made  her 
involuntarily  clutch  at  her  throat.  She  had  no  money  at 
all,  bills  were  piled  everywhere,  perhaps  now  Eobert  was 
dead  none  of  the  shops  would  give  her  credit.  She 
remembered  hearing  Rob  come  into  the  house  swearing 
only  the  day  before  he  was  taken  ill  and  it  had  been 
because  he  had  met  on  the  door-step  a  collector  of  the  rent 
which  was  long  over-due  and  must  be  paid.  She  had  no 
money  to  pay  it,  none  to  pay  the  servants'  wages,  none 
to  pay  the  household  bills,  none  to  pay  for  the  monthly 
hire  of  the  brougham !  Would  they  turn  her  into  the 
street — would  the  servants  go  away — would  she  be  left 
without  even  a  carriage?  What  could  she  do  about 
clothes !  She  could  not  wear  anything  but  mourning  now 
and  by  the  time  she  was  out  of  mourning  her  old  clothes 
would  have  gone  out  of  fashion.  The  morning  on  which 
this  aspect  of  things  occurred  to  her,  she  was  so  terrified 
that  she  began  to  run  up  and  down  the  room  like  a 
frightened  little  cat  seeing  no  escape  from  the  trap  it  is 
caught  in. 

"It's  awful — it's  awful — it's  awful !"  broke  out  between 
her  sobs.  "What  can  I  do  ?  I  can't  do  anything !  There's 
nothing  to  do !  It's  awful — it's  awful — it's  awful !"  She 
ended  by  throwing  herself  on  the  bed  crying  until  she  was 
exhausted.  She  had  no  mental  resources  which  would 
suggest  to  her  that  there  was  anything  but  crying  to  be 
done.  She  had  cried  very  little  in  her  life  previously 
because  even  in  her  days  of  limitation  she  had  been  able 
to  get  more  or  less  what  she  wanted — though  of  course  it 
had  generally  been  less.  And  crying  made  one's  nose  and 


30  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

eyes  red.  On  this  occasion  she  actually  forgot  her  nose 
and  eyes  and  cried  until  she  scarcely  knew  herself  when 
she  got  up  and  looked  in  the  glass. 

She  rang  the  bell  for  her  maid  and  sat  down  to  wait 
her  coming.  Tonson  should  bring  her  a  cup  of  beef  tea. 

"It's  time  for  lunch,"  she  thought.  "I'm  faint  with 
crying.  And  she  shall  bathe  my  eyes  with  rose-water." 

It  was  not  Tonson's  custom  to  keep  her  mistress  waiting 
but  today  she  was  not  prompt.  Feather  rang  a  second 
time  and  an  impatient  third  and  then  sat  in  her  chair  and 
waited  until  she  began  to  feel  as  she  felt  always  in  these 
dreadful  days  the  dead  silence  of  the  house.  It  was  the 
thing  which  most  struck  terror  to  her  soul — that  horrid 
stillness.  The  servants  whose  place  was  in  the  basement 
were  too  much  closed  in  their  gloomy  little  quarters  to 
have  made  themselves  heard  upstairs  even  if  they  had  been 
inclined  to.  During  the  last  iew  weeks  Feather  had  even 
found  herself  wishing  that  they  were  less  well  trained  and 
would  make  a  little  noise — do  anything  to  break  the  silence. 

The  room  she  sat  in — Eob's  awful  little  room  adjoining 
— which  was  awful  because  of  what  she  had  seen  for  a 
moment  lying  stiff  and  hard  on  the  bed  before  she  was 
taken  away  in  hysterics — were  dread  enclosures  of  utter 
silence.  The  whole  house  was  dumb — the  very  street  had 
no  sound  in  it.  She  could  not  endure  it.  How  dare 
Tonson?  She  sprang  up  and  rang  the  bell  again  and 
again  until  its  sound  came  back  to  her  pealing  through 
the  place. 

Then  she  waited  again.  It  seemed  to  her  that  five 
minutes  passed  before  she  heard  the  smart  young  footman 
mounting  the  stairs  slowly.  She  did  not  wait  for  his 
knock  upon  the  door  but  opened  it  herself. 

"How  dare  Tonson !"  she  began.  "I  have  rung  four  or 
five  times  !  How  dare  she !" 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  31 

The  smart  young  footman's  manner  had  been  formed 
in  a  good  school.  It  was  attentive,  impersonal. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  he  answered. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  What  does  she  mean  ?  Where  is 
she?"  Feather  felt  almost  breathless  before  his  unper 
turbed  good  st}rle. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  he  answered  as  before.  Then 
with  the  same  unbiassed  bearing  added,  "None  of  us 
know.  She  has  gone  away." 

Feather  clutched  the  door  handle  because  she  felt  herself 
swaying. 

"Away !     Away !"  the  words  were  a  faint  gasp. 

"She  packed  her  trunk  yesterday  and  carried  it  away 
with  her  on  a  four-wheeler.  About  an  hour  ago,  ma'am." 
Feather  dropped  her  hand  from  the  knob  of  the  door  and 
trailed  back  to  the  chair  she  had  left,  sinking  into  it 
helplessly. 

"Who — who  will  dress  me?"  she  half  wailed. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  replied  the  young  footman,  his 
excellent  manner  presuming  no  suggestion  or  opinion 
whatever.  He  added  however,  "Cook,  ma'am,  wishes  to 
speak  to  you." 

"Tell  her  to  come  to  me  here,"  Feather  said.  "And  I — 
I  want  a  cup  of  beef  tea." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  with  entire  respect.  And  the  door  closed 
quietly  behind  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  it  was  opened  again.  "Cook" 
had  knocked  and  Feather  had  told  her  to  come  in.  Most 
cooks  are  stout,  but  this  one  was  not.  She  was  a  thin, 
tall  woman  with  square  shoulders  and  a  square  face 
somewhat  reddened  by  constant  proximity  to  fires.  She 
had  been  trained  at  a  cooking  school.  She  carried 
a  pile  of  small  account  books  but  she  brought  noth 
ing  else. 


32  THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"I  wanted  some  beef  tea,  Cook,"  said  Feather  protest- 

ingty. 

"There  is  no  beef  tea,  ma'am,"  said  Cook.  "There  is 
neither  beef,  nor  stock,  nor  Liebig  in  the  house." 

"Why — why  not?"  stammered  Feather  and  she  stam 
mered  because  even  her  lack  of  perception  saw  something 
in  the  woman's  face  which  was  new  to  her.  It  was  a  sort 
of  finality. 

She  held  out  the  pile  of  small  books. 

"Here  are  the  books,  ma'am,"  was  her  explanation. 
"Perhaps  as  you  don't  like  to  be  troubled  with  such  things, 
you  don't  know  how  far  behind  they  are.  Nothing  has 
been  paid  for  months.  It's  been  an  every-day  fight  to  get 
the  things  that  was  wanted.  It's  not  an  agreeable  thing 
for  a  cook  to  have  to  struggle  and  plead.  I've  had  to  do 
it  because  I  had  my  reputation  to  think  of  and  I  couldn't 
send  up  rubbish  when  there  was  company." 

Feather  felt  herself  growing  pale  as  she  sat  and  stared 
at  her.  Cook  drew  near  and  laid  one  little  book  after 
another  on  the  small  table  near  her. 

"That's  the  butcher's  book,"  she  said.  "He's  sent 
nothing  in  for  three  days.  We've  been  living  on  leavings. 
He's  sent  his  last,  he  says  and  he  means  it.  This  is  the 
baker's.  He's  not  been  for  a  week.  I  made  up  rolls 
myself  because  I  had  some  flour  left.  It's  done  now — and 
he's  done.  This  is  groceries  and  Mercom  &  Frees  wrote 
to  Mr.  Gareth-Lawless  when  the  last  month's  supply  came, 
that  it  would  be  the  last  until  payment  was  made.  This 
is  wines — and  coal  and  wood — and  laundry — and  milk. 
And  here  is  wages,  ma'am,  which  can't  go  on  any  longer." 

Feather  threw  up  her  hands  quite  wildly. 

"Oh,  go  away ! — go  away !"  she  cried.  "If  Mr.  Lawless 
were  here " 

"He  isn't,  ma'am,"  Cook  interposed,  not  fiercely  but  in 


a  way  more  terrifying  than  any  ferocity  could  have  been — 
a  way  which  pointed  steadily  to  the  end  of  things.  "Ag 
long  as  there's  a  gentleman  in  a  house  there's  generally 
a  sort  of  a  prospect  that  things  may  be  settled  some  way. 
At  any  rate  there's  someone  to  go  and  speak  your  mind  to 
even  if  you  have  to  give  up  your  place.  But  when  there's 
no  gentleman  and  nothing — and  nobody — respectable 
people  with  their  livings  to  make  have  got  to  protect 
themselves." 

The  woman  had  no  intention  of  being  insolent.  Her 
simple  statement  that  her  employer's  death  had  left 
"Nothing"  and  "Nobody"  was  prompted  by  no  consciously 
ironic  realization  of  the  diaphanousness  of  Feather.  As 
for  the  rest  she  had  been  professionally  trained  to  take 
care  of  her  interests  as  well  as  to  cook  and  the  ethics  of 
the  days  of  her  grandmother  when  there  had  been  servants 
with  actual  affections  had  not  reached  her. 

"Oh !  go  away !     Go  awa-ay !"  Feather  almost  shrieked. 

"I  am  going,  ma'am.  So  are  Edward  and  Emma  and 
Louisa.  It's  no  use  waiting  and  giving  the  month's 
notice.  We  shouldn't  save  the  month's  wages  and  the 
trades-people  wouldn't  feed  us.  We  can't  stay  here  and 
starve.  And  it's  a  time  of  the  year  when  places  has  to  be 
looked  for.  You  can't  hold  it  against  us,  ma'am.  It's 
better  for  you  to  have  us  out  of  the  house  tonight — which 
is  when  our  boxes  will  be  taken  away." 

Then  was  Feather  seized  with  a  panic.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  found  herself  facing  mere  common 
facts  which  rose  before  her  like  a  solid  wall  of  stone — not 
to  be  leapt,  or  crept  under,  or  bored  through,  or  slipped 
round.  She  was  so  overthrown  and  bewildered  that  she 
could  not  even  think  of  any  clever  and  rapidly  constructed 
lie  which  would  help  her ;  indeed  she  was  so  aghast  that  she 
did  not  remember  that  there  were  such  things  as  lies. 


34  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Do  you  mean/'  she  cried  out,  "that  you  are  all  going 
to  leave  the  house — that  there  won't  be  any  servants  to 
wait  on  me — that  there's  nothing  to  eat  or  drink — that  I 
shall  have  to  stay  here  alone — and  starve !" 

"We  should  have  to  starve  if  we  stayed,"  answered  Cook 
simply.  "And  of  course  there  are  a  few  things  left  in  the 
pantry  and  closets.  And  you  might  get  in  a  woman  by  the 
day.  You  won't  starve,  ma'am.  You've  got  your  family 
in  Jersey.  We  waited  because  we  thought  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Darrel  would  be  sure  to  come." 

"My  father  is  ill.  I  think  he's  dying.  My  mother  could 
not  leave  him  for  a  moment.  Perhaps  he's  dead  now," 
Feather  wailed. 

"You've  got  your  London  friends,  ma'am " 

Feather  literally  beat  her  hands  together. 

"My  friends !  Can  I  go  to  people's  houses  and  knock  at 
their  front  door  and  tell  them  I  haven't  any  servants  or 
anything  to  eat!  Can  I  do  that?  Can  I?"  And  she 
said  it  as  if  she  were  going  crazy. 

The  woman  had  said  what  she  had  come  to  say  as 
spokeswoman  for  the  rest.  It  had  not  been  pleasant  but 
she  knew  she  had  been  quite  within  her  rights  and 
dealt  with  plain  facts.  But  she  did  not  enjoy  the  pros 
pect  of  seeing  her  little  fool  of  a  mistress  raving  in  hys 
terics. 

"You  mustn't  let  yourself  go,  ma'am,"  she  said.  "You'd 
better  lie  down  a  bit  and  try  to  get  quiet."  She  hesitated 
a  moment  looking  at  the  pretty  ruin  who  had  risen  from 
her  seat  and  stood  trembling. 

"It's  not  my  place  of  course  to — make  suggestions,"  she 
said  quietly.  "But — had  you  ever  thought  of  sending  for 
Lord  Coombe,  ma'am?" 

Feather  actually  found  the  torn  film  of  her  mind  caught 
for  a  second  by  something  which  wore  a  form  of  reality. 


Cook  saw  that  her  tremor  appeared  to  verge  on  steadying 
itself. 

"Coombe,"  she  faintly  breathed  as  if  to  herself  and  not 
to  Cook.  "Coombe." 

"His  lordship  was  very  friendly  with  Mr.  Lawless  and 
he  seemed  fond  of — coming  to  the  house,"  was  presented 
as  a  sort  of  added  argument.  "If  you'll  lie  down  I'll  bring 
you  a  cup  of  tea,  ma'am — though  it  can't  be  beef." 

Feather  staggered  again  to  her  bed  and  dropped  flat 
upon  it — flat  as  a  slim  little  pancake  in  folds  of  thin  black 
stuff  which  hung  and  floated. 

"I  can't  bring  you  cream,"  said  Cook  as  she  went  out  of 
the  room.  "Louisa  has  had  nothing  but  condensed  milk — 
since  yesterday — to  give  Miss  Robin." 

"Oh-h!"  groaned  Feather,  not  in  horror  of  the  tea 
without  cream  though  that  was  awful  enough  in  its  signif 
icance,  but  because  this  was  the  first  time  since  the  falling 
to  pieces  of  her  world  that  she  had  given  a  thought  to  the 
added  calamity  of  Robin. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IF  ONE  were  to  devote  one's  mental  energies  to  specu 
lation  as  to  what  is  going  on  behind  the  noncommittal 
fronts  of  any  row  of  houses  in  any  great  city  the 
imaginative  mind  might  be  led  far.  Bricks,  mortar, 
windows,  doors,  steps  which  lead  up  to  the  threshold,  are 
what  are  to  be  seen  from  the  outside.  Nothing  particular 
may  be  transpiring  within  the  walls,  or  tragedies,  crimes, 
hideous  suffering  may  be  enclosed.  The  conclusion  is 
obvious  to  banality — but  as  suggestive  as  banal — so  sugges 
tive  in  fact  that  the  hyper-sensitive  and  too  imaginative 
had  better,  for  their  own  comfort's  sake,  leave  the  matter 
alone.  In  most  cases  the  existing  conditions  would  not  be 
altered  even  if  one  knocked  at  the  door  and  insisted  on 
entering  with  drawn  sword  in  the  form  of  attendant  police 
man.  The  outside  of  the  slice  of  a  house  in  which  Feather 
lived  was  still  rather  fresh  from  its  last  decorative  touch 
ing  up.  It  had  been  painted  cream  colour  and  had  white 
doors  and  windows  and  green  window  boxes  with  varie 
gated  vinca  vines  trailing  from  them  and  pink  geraniums, 
dark  blue  lobelia  and  ferns  filling  the  earth  stuffed  in  by 
the  florist  who  provided  such  adornments.  Passers-by 
frequently  glanced  at  it  and  thought  it  a  nice  little  house 
whose  amusing  diminutiveness  was  a  sort  of  attraction. 
It  was  rather  like  a  new  doll's  house. 

No  one  glancing  at  it  in  passing  at  the  closing  of  this 
particular  day  had  reason  to  suspect  that  any  unaccustomed 
event  was  taking  place  behind  the  cream-coloured  front. 

36 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  37 

The  front  door  "brasses"  had  been  polished,  the  window- 
boxes  watered  and  no  cries  for  aid  issued  from  the  rooms 
behind  them.  The  house  was  indeed  quiet  both  inside  and 
out.  Inside  it  was  indeed  even  quieter  than  usual.  The 
servants'  preparation  for  departure  had  been  made  grad 
ually  and  undisturbedly.  There  had  been  exhaustive  quiet 
discussion  of  the  subject  each  night  for  weeks,  even  before 
Eobert  Gareth-Lawless'  illness.  The  smart  young  footman 
Edward  who  had  means  of  gaining  practical  information 
had  constituted  himself  a  sort  of  private  detective.  He 
had  in  time  learned  all  that  was  to  be  learned.  This,  it 
had  made  itself  clear  to  him  on  investigation,  was  not  one 
of  those  cases  when  to  wait  for  evolutionary  family  events 
might  be  the  part  of  discretion.  There  were  no  prospects 
ahead — none  at  all.  Matters  would  only  get  worse  and  the 
whole  thing  would  end  in  everybody  not  only  losing  their 
unpaid  back  wages  but  having  to  walk  out  into  the  street 
through  the  door  of  a  disgraced  household  whose  owners 
would  be  turned  out  into  the  street  also  when  their  belong 
ings  were  sold  over  their  heads.  Better  get  out  before 
everything  went  to  pieces  and  there  were  unpleasantnesses. 
There  would  be  unpleasantnesses  because  there  was  no 
denying  that  the  trades-people  had  been  played  tricks 
with.  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  was  only  one  of  a  lot  of  pretty 
daughters  whose  father  was  a  poor  country  doctor  in 
Jersey.  He  had  had  "a  stroke"  himself  and  his  widow 
would  have  nothing  to  live  on  when  he  died.  That  was 
what  Mrs.  Lawless  had  to  look  to.  As  to  Lord  Lawdor 
Edward  had  learned  from  those  who  did  know  that  he  had 
never  approved  of  his  nephew  and  that  he'd  said  he  was  a 
fool  for  marrying  and  had  absolutely  refused  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  him.  He  had  six  boys  and  a  girl  now 
and  big  estates  weren't  what  they  had  been,  everyone  knew. 
There  was  only  one  thing  left  for  Cook  and  Edward  and 


38  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Emma  and  Louisa  to  do  and  that  was  to  "get  out"  without 
any  talk  or  argument. 

"She's  not  one  that  won't  find  someone  to  look  after 
her,"  ended  Edward.  "Somebody  or  other  will  take  her 
up  because  they'll  be  sorry  for  her.  But  us  lot  aren't 
widows  and  orphans.  No  one's  going  to  be  sorry  for  us 
or  care  a  hang  what  we've  been  let  in  for.  The  longer  we 
stay,  the  longer  we  won't  be  paid."  He  was  not  a  partic 
ularly  depraved  or  cynical  young  footman  but  he  laughed 
a  little  at  the  end  of  his  speech.  "There's  the  Marquis," 
he  added.  "He's  been  running  in  and  out  long  enough  to 
make  a  good  bit  of  talk.  Now's  his  time  to  turn  up." 

After  she  had  taken  her  cup  of  tea  without  cream 
Feather  had  fallen  asleep  in  reaction  from  her  excited 
agitation.  It  was  in  accord  with  the  inevitable  trend  of 
her  being  that  even  before  her  eyes  closed  she  had  ceased 
to  believe  that  the  servants  were  really  going  to  leave  the 
house.  It  seemed  too  ridiculous  a  thing  to  happen.  She 
was  possessed  of  no  logic  which  could  lead  her  to  a 
realization  of  the  indubitable  fact  that  there  was  no  reason 
why  servants  who  could  neither  be  paid  nor  provided  with 
food  should  remain  in  a  place.  The  mild  stimulation  of 
the  tea  also  gave  rise  to  the  happy  thought  that  she  would 
not  give  them  any  references  if  they  "behaved  badly".  It 
did  not  present  itself  to  her  that  references  from  a  house 
of  cards  which  had  ignominiously  fallen  to  pieces  and 
which  henceforth  would  represent  only  shady  failure, 
would  be  of  no  use.  So  she  fell  asleep. 


When  she  awakened  the  lights  were  lighted  in  the  streets 
and  one  directly  across  the  way  threw  its  reflection  into 
her  bedroom.  It  lit  up  the  little  table  near  which  she 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   39 

had  sat  and  the  first  thing  she  saw  was  the  pile  of  small 
account  books.  The  next  was  that  the  light  which  revealed 
them  also  fell  brightly  on  the  glass  knob  of  the  door  which 
led  into  Robert's  room. 

She  turned  her  eyes  away  quickly  with  a  nervous 
shudder.  She  had  a  horror  of  the  nearness  of  Rob's  room. 
If  there  had  been  another  part  of  the  house  in  which  she 
could  have  slept  she  would  have  fled  to  it  as  soon  as  he  was 
taken  ill.  But  the  house  was  too  small  to  have  "parts". 
The  tiny  drawing-rooms  piled  themselves  on  top  of  the 
dining-room,  the  "master's  bedrooms"  on  top  of  the  draw 
ing-rooms,  and  the  nurseries  and  attics  where  Robin  and 
the  servants  slept  one  on  the  other  at  the  top  of  the  house. 
So  she  had  been  obliged  to  stay  and  endure  everything. 
Rob's  cramped  quarters  had  always  been  full  of  smart 
boots  and  the  smell  of  cigars  and  men's  clothes.  He  had 
moved  about  a  good  deal  and  had  whistled  and  laughed 
and  sworn  and  grumbled.  They  had  neither  of  them  had 
bad  tempers  so  that  they  had  not  quarrelled  with  each  other. 
They  had  talked  through  the  open  door  when  they  were 
dressing  and  they  had  invented  clever  tricks  which  helped 
them  to  get  out  of  money  scrapes  and  they  had  gossiped 
and  made  fun  of  people.  And  now  the  door  was  locked 
and  the  room  was  a  sort  of  horror.  She  could  never  think 
of  it  without  seeing  the  stiff  hard  figure  on  the  bed,  the 
straight  close  line  of  the  mouth  and  the  white  hard  nose 
sharpened  and  narrowed  as  Rob's  had  never  been.  Some 
how  she  particularly  could  not  bear  the  recollection  of  the 
sharp  unnatural  modeling  of  the  hard,  white  nose.  She 
could  not  bear  it !  She  found  herself  recalling  it  the 
moment  she  saw  the  light  on  the  door  handle  and  she  got 
up  to  move  about  and  try  to  forget  it. 

It  was  then  that  she  went  to  the  window  and  looked 
down  into  the  street,  probably  attracted  by  some  slight 


40  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

noise  though  she  was  not  exactly  aware  that  she  had 
heard  anything. 

She  must  have  heard  something  however.  Two  four- 
wheeled  cabs  were  standing  at  the  front  door  and  the 
cabmen  assisted  by  Edward  were  putting  trunks  on  top  of 
them.  They  were  servants'  trunks  and  Cook  was  already 
inside  the  first  cab  which  was  filled  with  paper  parcels  and 
odds  and  ends.  Even  as  her  mistress  watched  Emma  got 
in  carrying  a  sedate  band-box.  She  was  the  house-parlour 
maid  and  a  sedate  person.  The  first  cab  drove  away  as 
soon  as  its  door  was  closed  and  the  cabman  mounted  to 
his  seat.  Louisa  looking  wholly  unprofessional  without 
her  nurse's  cap  and  apron  and  wearing  a  tailor-made  navy 
blue  costume  and  a  hat  with  a  wing  in  it,  entered  the 
second  cab  followed  by  Edward  intensely  suggesting 
private  life  and  possible  connection  with  a  Bank.  The 
second  cab  followed  the  first  and  Feather  having  lost  her 
breath  looked  after  them  as  they  turned  the  corner  of  the 
street. 

When  they  were  quite  out  of  sight  she  turned  back  into 
the  room.  The  colour  had  left  her  skin,  and  her  eyes 
were  so  wide  stretched  and  her  face  so  drawn  and  pinched 
with  abject  terror  that  her  prettiness  itself  had  left  her. 

"They've  gone — all  of  them  !"  she  gasped.  She  stopped 
a  moment,  her  chest  rising  and  falling.  Then  she  added 
even  more  breathlessly,  "There's  no  one  left  in  the  house. 
It's— empty !" 

This  was  what  was  going  on  behind  the  cream-coloured 
front,  the  white  windows  and  green  flower-boxes  of  the 
slice  of  a  house  as  motors  and  carriages  passed  it  that 
evening  on  their  way  to  dinner  parties  and  theatres,  and 
later  as  the  policeman  walked  up  and  down  slowly  upon 
his  beat. 

Inside  a  dim  light  in  the  small  hall  showed  a  remote 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  41 

corner  where  on  a  peg  above  a  decorative  seat  hung  a  man's 
hat  of  the  highest  gloss  and  latest  form;  and  on  the  next 
peg  a  smart  evening  overcoat.  They  had  belonged  to 
Eobert  Gareth-Lawless  who  was  dead  and  needed  such 
things  no  more.  The  same  dim  light  showed  the  steep 
narrowness  of  the  white-railed  staircase  mounting  into 
gruesome  little  corners  of  shadows,  while  the  miniature 
drawing-rooms  illumined  only  from  the  street  seemed  to 
await  an  explanation  of  dimness  and  chairs  unfilled,  com 
bined  with  unnatural  silence. 

It  would  have  been  the  silence  of  the  tomb  but  that  it 
was  now  and  then  broken  by  something  like  a  half 
smothered  shriek  followed  by  a  sort  of  moaning  which 
made  their  way  through  the  ceiling  from  the  room  above. 

Feather  had  at  first  run  up  and  down  the  room  like  a 
frightened  cat  as  she  had  done  in  the  afternoon.  After 
wards  she  had  had  something  like  hysterics,  falling  face 
downward  upon  the  carpet  and  clutching  her  hair  until 
it  fell  down.  She  was  not  a  person  to  be  judged — she 
was  one  of  the  unexplained  incidents  of  existence.  The 
hour  has  passed  when  the  clearly  moral  can  sum  up  the 
responsibilities  of  a  creature  born  apparently  without  brain 
or  soul  or  courage.  Those  who  aspire  to  such  morals  as 
are  expressed  by  fairness — mere  fairness — are  much  given 
to  hesitation.  Courage  had,  never  been  demanded  of 
Feather  so  far.  She  had  none  whatever  and  now  she  only 
felt  panic  and  resentment.  She  had  no  time  to  be  pathetic 
about  Eobert,  being  too  much  occupied  with  herself. 
Eobert  was  dead — she  was  alive — here — in  an  empty  house 
with  no  money  and  no  servants.  She  suddenly  and  rather 
awfully  realized  that  she  did  not  know  a  single  person 
whom  it  would  not  be  frantic  to  expect  anything  from. 

Nobody  had  money  enough  for  themselves,  however  rich 
they  were.  The  richer  they  were  the  more  they  needed. 


42  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

It  was  when  this  thought  came  to  her  that  she  clutched 
her  hands  in  her  hair.  The  pretty  and  smart  women  and 
agreeable  more  or  less  good  looking  men  who  had  chattered 
and  laughed  and  made  love  in  her  drawing-rooms  were 
chattering,  laughing  and  making  love  in  other  houses  at 
this  very  moment — or  they  were  at  the  theatre  applauding 
some  fashionable  actor-manager.  At  this  very  moment — 
while  she  lay  on  the  carpet  in  the  dark  and  every  little 
room  in  the  house  had  horror  shut  inside  its  closed  doors — 
particularly  Kobert's  room  which  was  so  hideously  close 
to  her  own,  and  where  there  seemed  still  to  lie  moveless 
on  the  bed,  the  stiff  hard  figure.  It  was  when  she  recalled 
this  that  the  unnatural  silence  of  the  drawing-rooms  was 
intruded  upon  by  the  brief  half-stifled  hysteric  shriek,  and 
the  moaning  which  made  its  way  through  the  ceiling. 
She  felt  almost  as  if  the  door  handle  might  turn  and 
something  stiff  and  cold  try  to  come  in. 

So  the  hours  went  on  behind  the  cream-coloured  outer 
walls  and  the  white  windows  and  gay  flower-boxes.  And 
the  street  became  more  and  more  silent — so  silent  at  last 
that  when  the  policeman  walked  past  on  his  beat  his  heavy 
regular  footfall  seemed  loud  and  almost  resounding. 

To  even  vaguely  put  to  herself  any  question  involving 
action  would  not  have  been  within  the  scope  of  her 
mentality.  Even  when  she  began  to  realize  that  she  was 
beginning  to  feel  faint  for  want  of  food  she  did  not  dare 
to  contemplate  going  downstairs  to  look  for  something  to 
eat.  What  did  she  know  about  downstairs?  She  had 
never  been  there  and  had  paid  no  attention  whatever  to 
Louisa's  complaints  that  the  kitchen  and  Servants'  Hall 
were  small  and  dark  and  inconvenient  and  that  cock 
roaches  ran  about.  She  had  cheerfully  accepted  the  simple 
philosophy  that  London  servants  were  used  to  these  things 
and  if  they  did  their  work  it  did  not  really  matter.  But 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  43 

to  go  out  of  one's  room  in  the  horrible  stillness  and  creep 
downstairs,  having  to  turn  up  the  gas  as  one  went,  and  to 
face  the  basement  steps  and  cockroaches  scuttling  away, 
would  be  even  more  impossible  than  to  starve.  She  sat 
upon  the  floor,  her  hair  tumbling  about  her  shoulders  and 
her  thin  black  dress  crushed. 

"I'd  give  almost  anything  for  a  cup  of  coffee,"  she  pro 
tested  feebly.  "And  there's  no  use  in  ringing  the  bell !" 

Her  mother  ought  to  have  come  whether  her  father  was 
ill  or  not.  He  wasn't  dead.  Kobert  was  dead  and  her 
mother  ought  to  have  come  so  that  whatever  happened  she 
would  not  be  quite  alone  and  something  could  be  done  for 
her.  It  was  probably  this  tender  thought  of  her  mother 
which  brought  back  the  recollection  of  her  wedding  day 
and  a  certain  wedding  present  she  had  received.  It  was 
a  pretty  silver  travelling  flask  and  she  remembered  that 
it  must  be  in  her  dressing-bag  now,  and  there  was  some 
cognac  left  in  it.  She  got  up  and  went  to  the  place  where 
the  bag  was  kept.  Cognac  raised  your  spirits  and  made 
you  go  to  sleep,  and  if  she  could  sleep  until  morning  the 
house  would  not  be  so  frightening  by  daylight — and  some 
thing  might  happen.  The  little  flask  was  almost  full. 
Neither  she  nor  Eobert  had  cared  much  about  cognac. 
She  poured  some  into  a  glass  with  water  and  drank  it. 

Because  she  was  unaccustomed  to  stimulant  it  made  her 
feel  quite  warm  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  forgot  that  she 
had  been  hungry  and  realized  that  she  was  not  so  fright 
ened.  It  was  such  a  relief  not  to  be  terrified ;  it  was  as  if  a 
pain  had  stopped.  She  actually  picked  up  one  or  two  of  the 
account  books  and  glanced  at  the  totals.  If  you  couldn't 
pay  bills  you  couldn't  and  nobody  was  put  in  prison  for 
debt  in  these  days.  Besides  she  would  not  have  been  put 
in  prison — Rob  would — and  Rob  was  dead.  Something 
would  happen — something. 


44  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

As  she  began  to  arrange  her  hair  for  the  night  she 
remembered  what  Cook  had  said  about  Lord  Coombe. 
She  had  cried  until  she  did  not  look  as  lovely  as  usual, 
but  after  she  had  bathed  her  eyes  with  cold  rose-water 
they  began  to  seem  only  shadowy  and  faintly  flushed. 
And  her  fine  ash-gold  hair  was  wonderful  when  it  hung 
over  each  shoulder  in  wide,  soft  plaits.  She  might  be  a 
school-girl  of  fifteen.  A  delicate  lacy  night-gown  was 
one  of  the  most  becoming  things  one  wore.  It  was  a  pity 
one  couldn't  wear  them  to  parties.  There  was  nothing 
the  least  indecent  about  them.  Millicent  Hardwicke  had 
been  photographed  in  one  of  hers  and  no  one  had  suspected 
what  it  was.  Yes ;  she  would  send  a  little  note  to  Coombe. 
She  knew  Madame  Helene  had  only  let  her  have  her 

beautiful  mourning  because .  The  things  she  had 

created  were  quite  unique — thin,  gauzy,  black,  floating  or 
clinging.  She  had  been  quite  happy  the  morning  she  gave 
Helene  her  orders.  Tomorrow  when  she  had  slept  through 
the  night  and  it  was  broad  daylight  again  she  would  be 
able  to  think  of  things  to  say  in  her  letter  to  Lord  Coombe. 
She  would  have  to  be  a  little  careful  because  he  did  not 
like  things  to  bore  him. — Death  and  widows  might — a 
little — at  first.  She  had  heard  him  say  once  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  regard  himself  in  the  light  of  a  charitable 
institution.  It  wouldn't  do  to  frighten  him  away.  Perhaps 
if  he  continued  coming  to  the  house  and  seemed  very 
intimate  the  trades-people  might  be  managed. 

She  felt  much  less  helpless  and  when  she  was  ready  for 
bed  she  took  a  little  more  cognac.  The  flush  had  faded 
from  her  eye-lids  and  bloomed  in  delicious  rose  on  her 
cheeks.  As  she  crept  between  the  cool  sheets  and  nestled 
down  on  her  pillow  she  had  a  delightful  sense  of  increasing 
comfort — comfort.  What  a  beautiful  thing  it  was  to  go 
to  sleep ! 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  45 

And  then  she  was  disturbed — started  out  of  the  divine 
doze  stealing  upon  her — by  a  shrill  prolonged  wailing 
shriek ! 

It  came  from  the  Night  Nursery  and  at  the  moment  it 
seemed  almost  worse  than  anything  which  had  occurred  all 
through  the  day.  It  brought  everything  back  so  hideously. 
She  had  of  course  forgotten  Eobin  again — and  it  was 
Robin!  And  Louisa  had  gone  away  with  Edward.  She 
had  perhaps  put  the  child  to  sleep  discreetly  before  she 
went.  And  now  she  had  wakened  and  was  screaming. 
Feather  had  heard  that  she  was  a  child  with  a  temper 
but  by  fair  means  or  foul  Louisa  had  somehow  managed 
to  prevent  her  from  being  a  nuisance. 

The  shrieks  shocked  her  into  sitting  upright  in  bed. 
Their  shrillness  tearing  through  the  utter  Boundlessness 
of  the  empty  house  brought  back  all  her  terrors  and  set 
her  heart  beating  at  a  gallop. 

"I — I  won't  I"  she  protested,  fairly  with  chattering  teeth. 
"I  won't!  \  won't  I" 

She  had  never  done  anything  for  the  child  since  its 
birth,  she  did  not  know  how  to  do  anything,  she  had  not 
wanted  to  know.  To  reach  her  now  she  would  be  obliged 
to  go  out  in  the  dark — the  gas-jet  she  would  have  to  light 
was  actually  close  to  the  outer  door  of  Robert's  bedroom — • 
the  room!  If  she  did  not  die  of  panic  while  she  was 
trying  to  light  it  she  would  have  to  make  her  way  almost 
in  the  dark  up  the  steep  crooked  little  staircase  which  led 
to  the  nurseries.  And  the  awful  little  creature's  screams 
would  be  going  on  all  the  time  making  the  blackness  and 
dead  silence  of  the  house  below  more  filled  with  horror  by 
contrast — more  shut  off  and  at  the  same  time  more  likely 
to  waken  to  some  horror  which  was  new. 

"I — I  couldn't — even  if  I  wanted  to !"  she  quaked.  "I 
daren't!  I  daren't!  I  wouldn't  do  it — for  a  million 


46  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

pounds!"  And  she  flung  herself  down  again  shuddering 
and  burrowing  her  head  under  the  coverings  and  pillows 
she  dragged  over  her  ears  to  shut  out  the  sounds. 

The  screams  had  taken  on  a  more  determined  note  and  a 
fiercer  shrillness  which  the  still  house  heard  well  and  made 
the  most  of,  but  they  were  so  far  deadened  for  Feather 
that  she  began  beneath  her  soft  barrier  to  protest  pantingly. 

"I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do  if  I  went.  If  no  one 
goes  near  her  she'll  cry  herself  to  sleep.  It's — it's  only 
temper.  Oh-h !  what  a  horrible  wail !  It — it  sounds  like 
a — a  lost  soul !" 

But  she  did  not  stir  from  the  bed.  She  burrowed 
deeper  under  the  bed  clothes  and  held  the  pillow  closer 
to  her  ears. 


It  did  sound  like  a  lost  soul  at  times.  What  panic 
possesses  a  baby  who  cries  in  the  darkness  alone  no  one 
will  ever  know  and  one  may  perhaps  give  thanks  to  what 
ever  gods  there  be  that  the  baby  itself  does  not  remember. 
What  awful  woe  of  sudden  unprotectedness  when  life  exists 
only  through  protection — what  piteous  panic  in  the  midst 
of  black  unmercifulness,  inarticulate  sound  howsoever 
wildly  shrill  can  neither  explain  nor  express. 

Eobin  knew  only  Louisa,  warmth,  food,  sleep  and 
waking.  Or  if  she  knew  more  she  was  not  yet  aware  that 
she  did.  She  had  reached  the  age  when  she  generally 
slept  through  the  night.  She  might  not  have  disturbed 
her  mother  until  daylight  but  Louisa  had  with  forethought 
given  her  an  infant  sleeping  potion.  It  had  disagreed 
with  and  awakened  her.  She  was  uncomfortable  and 
darkness  enveloped  her.  A  cry  or  so  and  Louisa  would 
ordinarily  have  come  to  her  sleepy,  and  rather  out  of 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  47 

temper,  but  knowing  what  to  do.  In  this  strange  night 
the  normal  cry  of  warning  and  demand  produced  no  result. 

No  one  came.  The  discomfort  continued — the  blackness 
remained  black.  The  cries  became  shrieks — but  nothing 
followed;  the  shrieks  developed  into  prolonged  screams. 
No  Louisa,  no  light,  no  milk.  The  blackness  drew  in 
closer  and  became  a  thing  to  be  fought  with  wild  little 
beating  hands.  Not  a  glimmer — not  a  rustle — not  a 
sound !  Then  came  the  cries  of  the  lost  soul — alone — 
alone — in  a  black  world  of  space  in  which  there  was  not 
even  another  lost  soul.  And  then  the  panics  of  which 
there  have  been  no  records  and  never  will  be,  because  if  the 
panic  stricken  does  not  die  in  mysterious  convulsions  he  or 
she  grows  away  from  the  memory  of  a  formless  past — 
except  that  perhaps  unexplained  nightmares  from  which 
one  wakens  quaking,  with  cold  sweat,  may  vaguely  repeat 
the  long  hidden  thing. 

What  the  child  Eobin  knew  in  the  dark  perhaps  the 
silent  house  which  echoed  her  might  curiously  have  known. 
But  the  shrieks  wore  themselves  out  at  last  and  sobs  came 
— awful  little  sobs  shuddering  through  the  tiny  breast  and 
shaking  the  baby  body.  A  baby's  sobs  are  unspeakable 
things — incredible  things.  Slower  and  slower  Robin's 
came — with  small  deep  gasps  and  chokings  between — and 
when  an  uninfantile  druglike  sleep  came,  the  bitter,  hope 
less,  beaten  little  sobs  went  on. 

But  Feather's  head  was  still  burrowed  under  the  soft 
protection  of  the  pillow. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  morning  was  a  brighter  one  than  London 
usually  indulges  in  and  the  sun  made  its  way  into 
Feather's  bedroom  to  the  revealing  of  its  coral  pink 
glow  and  comfort.  She  had  always  liked  her  bedroom 
and  had  usually  wakened  in  it  to  the  sense  of  luxuriousness 
it  is  possible  a  pet  cat  feels  when  it  wakens  to  stretch  itself 
on  a  cushion  with  its  saucer  of  cream  awaiting  it. 

But  she  did  not  awaken  either  to  a  sense  of  brightness 
or  luxury  this  morning.  She  had  slept  it  was  true,  but 
once  or  twice  when  the  pillow  had  slipped  aside  she  had 
found  herself  disturbed  by  the  far-off  sound  of  the  wail 
ing  of  some  little  animal  which  had  caused  her  automat 
ically  and  really  scarcely  consciously  to  replace  the  pillow. 
It  had  only  happened  at  long  intervals  because  it  is  Nature 
that  an  exhausted  baby  falls  asleep  when  it  is  worn  out. 
Robin  had  probably  slept  almost  as  much  as  her  mother. 

Feather  staring  at  the  pinkness  around  her  reached  at 
last,  with  the  assistance  of  a  certain  physical  consciousness, 
a  sort  of  spiritless  intention. 

"She's  asleep  now/'  she  murmured.  "I  hope  she  won't 
waken  for  a  long  time.  I  feel  faint.  I  shall  have  to  find 
something  to  eat — if  it's  only  biscuits."  Then  she  lay 
and  tried  to  remember  what  Cook  had  said  about  her  not 
starving.  "She  said  there  were  a  few  things  left  in  the 
pantry  and  closets.  Perhaps  there's  some  condensed  milk. 
How  do  you  mix  it  up  ?  If  she  cries  I  might  go  and  give 
her  some.  It  wouldn't  be  so  awful  now  it's  daylight." 

She  felt  shaky  when  she  got  out  of  bed  and  stood  on  her 

48 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  49 

feet.  She  had  not  had  a  maid  in  her  girlhood  so  she  could 
dress  herself,  much  as  she  detested  to  do  it.  After  she 
had  begun  however  she  could  not  help  becoming  rather 
interested  because  the  dress  she  had  worn  the  day  before 
had  become  crushed  and  she  put  on  a  fresh  one  she  had 
not  worn  at  all.  It  was  thin  and  soft  also,  and  black  was 
quite  startlingly  becoming  to  her.  She  would  wear  this  one 
when  Lord  Coombe  came,  after  she  wrote  to  him.  It  was 
silly  of  her  not  to  have  written  before  though  she  knew  he 
had  left  town  after  the  funeral.  Letters  would  be  for 
warded. 

"It  will  be  quite  bright  in  the  dining-room  now/'  she 
said  to  encourage  herself.  "And  Tonson  once  said  that 
the  only  places  the  sun  came  into  below  stairs  were  the 
pantry  and  kitchen  and  it  only  stayed  about  an  hour  early 
in  the  morning.  I  must  get  there  as  soon  as  I  can." 

When  she  had  so  dressed  herself  that  the  reflection  the 
mirror  gave  back  to  her  was  of  the  nature  of  a  slight 
physical  stimulant  she  opened  her  bedroom  door  and  faced 
exploration  of  the  deserted  house  below  with  a  quaking 
sense  of  the  proportions  of  the  inevitable.  She  got  down 
the  narrow  stairs  casting  a  frightened  glance  at  the 
emptiness  of  the  drawing-rooms  which  seemed  to  stare  at 
her  as  she  passed  them.  There  was  sun  in  the  dining- 
room  and  when  she  opened  the  sideboard  she  found  some 
wine  in  decanters  and  some  biscuits  and  even  a  few  nuts 
and  some  raisins  and  oranges.  She  put  them  on  the  table 
and  sat  down  and  ate  some  of  them  and  began  to  feel  a 
little  less  shaky. 

If  she  had  been  allowed  time  to  sit  longer  and  digest  and 
reflect  she  might  have  reached  the  point  of  deciding  on 
what  she  would  write  to  Lord  Coombe.  She  had  not  the 
pen  of  a  ready  writer  and  it  must  be  thought  over.  But 
just  when  she  was  beginning  to  be  conscious  of  the  pleasant 


50  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

warmth  of  the  sun  which  shone  on  her  shoulders  from  the 
window,  she  was  almost  startled  out  of  her  chair  by 
hearing  again  stealing  down  the  staircase  from  the  upper 
regions  that  faint  wail  like  a  little  cat's. 

"Just  the  moment — the  very  moment  I  begin  to  feel  a 
little  quieted — and  try  to  think — she  begins  again!"  she 
cried  out.  "It's  worse  than  anything!" 

Large  crystal  tears  ran  down  her  face  and  upon  the 
polished  table. 

"I  suppose  she  would  starve  to  death  if  I  didn't  give  her 
some  food — and  then  I  should  be  blamed !  People  would 
be  horrid  about  it.  I've  got  nothing  to  eat  myself." 

She  must  at  any  rate  manage  to  stop  the  crying  before  she 
could  write  to  Coombe.  She  would  be  obliged  to  go  down 
into  the  pantry  and  look  for  some  condensed  milk.  The 
creature  had  no  teeth  but  perhaps  she  could  mumble  a 
biscuit  or  a  few  raisins.  If  she  could  be  made  to  swallow 
a  little  port  wine  it  might  make  her  sleepy.  The  sun  was 
paying  its  brief  morning  visit  to  the  kitchen  and  pantry 
when  she  reached  there,  but  a  few  cockroaches  scuttled 
away  before  her  and  made  her  utter  a  hysterical  little 
scream.  But  there  was  some  condensed  milk  and  there 
was  a  little  warm  water  in  a  kettle  because  the  fire  was 
not  quite  out.  She  imperfectly  mixed  a  decoction  and 
filled  a  bottle  which  ought  not  to  have  been  downstairs 
but  had  been  brought  and  left  there  by  Louisa  as  a  result 
of  tender  moments  with  Edward. 

When  she  put  the  bottle  and  some  biscuits  and  scraps 
of  cold  ham  on  a  tray  because  she  could  not  carry  them  all 
in  her  hands,  her  sense  of  outrage  and  despair  made  her 
almost  sob. 

"I  am  just  like  a  servant — carrying  trays  upstairs/'  she 
wept.  "I — I  might  be  Edward — or — or  Louisa."  And 
her  woe  increased  when  she  added  in  the  dining-room  the 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  51 

port  wine  and  nuts  and  raisins  and  macaroons  as  viands 
which  might  somehow  add  to  infant  diet  and  induce  sleep. 
She  was  not  sure  of  course — but  she  knew  they  sucked 
things  and  liked  sweets. 

A  baby  left  unattended  to  scream  itself  to  sleep  and 
awakening  to  scream  itself  to  sleep  again,  does  not  present 
to  a  resentful  observer  the  flowerlike  bloom  and  beauty  of 
infancy.  When  Feather  carried  her  tray  into  the  Night 
Nursery  and  found  herself  confronting  the  disordered  crib 
on  which  her  offspring  lay  she  felt  the  child  horrible  to 
look  at.  Its  face  was  disfigured  and  its  eyes  almost  closed. 
She  trembled  all  over  as  she  put  the  bottle  to  its  mouth 
and  saw  the  fiercely  hungry  clutch  of  its  hands.  It  was 
old  enough  to  clutch,  and  clutch  it  did,  and  suck  furiously 
and  starvingly — even  though  actually  forced  to  stop  once 
or  twice  at  first  to  give  vent  to  a  thwarted  remnant  of  a 
scream. 

Feather  had  only  seen  it  as  downy  whiteness  and 
perfume  in  Louisa's  arms  or  in  its  carriage.  It  had  been 
a  singularly  vivid  and  brilliant-eyed  baby  at  whom  people 
looked  as  they  passed. 

"Who  will  give  her  a  bath  ?"  wailed  Feather.  "Who  will 
change  her  clothes  ?  Someone  must !  Could  a  woman  by 
the  day  do  it  ?  Cook  said  I  could  get  a  woman  by  the  day." 

And  then  she  remembered  that  one  got  servants  from 
agencies.  And  where  were  the  agencies?  And  even  a 
woman  "by  the  day"  would  demand  wages  and  food  to  eat. 

And  then  the  front  door  bell  rang. 

What  could  she  do — what  could  she  do  ?  Go  downstairs 
and  open  the  door  herself  and  let  everyone  know!  Let 
the  ringer  go  on  ringing  until  he  was  tired  and  went  away  ? 
She  was  indeed  hard  driven,  even  though  the  wail  had 
ceased  as  Eobin  clutched  her  bottle  to  her  breast  and  fed 
with  frenzy.  Let  them  go  away — let  them !  And  then 


52  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

came  the  wild  thought  that  it  might  be  Something — the 
Something  which  must  happen  when  things  were  at  their 
worst!  And  if  it  had  come  and  the  house  seemed  to  be 
empty !  She  did  not  walk  down  the  stairs,  she  ran.  Her 
heart  beat  until  she  reached  the  door  out  of  breath  and 
when  she  opened  it  stood  there  panting. 

The  people  who  waited  upon  the  steps  were  strangers. 
They  were  very  nice  looking  and  quite  young — a  man  and 
a  woman  very  perfectly  dressed.  The  man  took  a  piece  of 
paper  out  of  his  pocketbook  and  handed  it  to  her  with  an 
agreeable  apologetic  courtesy. 

"I  hope  we  have  not  called  early  enough  to  disturb  you," 
he  said.  "We  waited  until  eleven  but  we  are  obliged  to 
catch  a  train  at  half  past.  It  is  an  'order  to  view'  from 
Carson  &  Bayle."  He  added  this  because  Feather  was 
staring  at  the  paper. 

Carson  &  Bayle  were  the  agents  they  had  rented  the 
house  from.  It  was  Carson  &  Bayle's  collector  Eobert  had 
met  on  the  threshold  and  sworn  at  two  days  before  he  had 
been  taken  ill.  They  were  letting  the  house  over  her  head 
and  she  would  be  turned  out  into  the  street  ? 

The  young  man  and  woman  finding  themselves  gazing 
at  this  exquisitely  pretty  creature  in  exquisite  mourning, 
felt  themselves  appallingly  embarrassed.  She  was  plainly 
the  widow  Carson  had  spoken  of.  But  why  did  she  open 
the  door  herself  ?  And  why  did  she  look  as  if  she  did  not 
understand?  Indignation  against  Carson  &  Bayle  began 
to  stir  the  young  man. 

"Beg  pardon  !  So  sorry !  I  am  afraid  we  ought  not  to 
have  come,"  he  protested.  "Agents  ought  to  know  better. 
They  said  you  were  giving  up  the  house  at  once  and  we 
were  afraid  someone  might  take  it." 

Feather  held  the  "order  to  view"  in  her  hand  and  stared 
at  them  quite  helplessly. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   53 

"There — are  no — no  servants  to  show  it  to  you,"  she 
said.  "If  you  could  wait — a  few  days — perhaps " 

She  was  so  lovely  and  Madame  Helene's  filmy  black 
creation  was  in  itself  such  an  appeal,  that  the  amiable 
young  strangers  gave  up  at  once. 

"Oh,  certainly — certainly  !  Do  excuse  us  !  Carson  and 

Bayle  ought  not  to  have !  We  are  so  sorry.  Good 

morning,  good  morning/'  they  gave  forth  in  discomfited 
sympathy  and  politeness,  and  really  quite  scurried  away. 

Having  shut  the  door  on  their  retreat  Feather  stood 
shivering. 

"I  am  going  to  be  turned  out  of  the  house  !  I  shall  have 
to  live  in  the  street !"  she  thought.  "Where  shall  I  keep 
my  clothes  if  I  live  in  the  street !" 

Even  she  knew  that  she  was  thinking  idiotically.  Of 
course  if  everything  was  taken  from  you  and  sold,  you 
would  have  no  clothes  at  all,  and  wardrobes  and  drawers 
and  closets  would  not  matter.  The  realization  that  scarcely 
anything  in  the  house  had  been  paid  for  came  home  to  her 
with  a  ghastly  shock.  She  staggered  upstairs  to  the  first 
drawing-room  in  which  there  was  a  silly  pretty  little  buhl 
writing  table. 

She  felt  even  more  senseless  when  she  sank  into  a  chair 
before  it  and  drew  a  sheet  of  note-paper  towards  her. 
Her  thoughts  would  not  connect  themselves  with  each 
other  and  she  could  not  imagine  what  she  ought  to  say  in 
her  letter  to  Coombe.  In  fact  she  seemed  to  have  no 
thoughts  at  all.  She  could  only  remember  the  things 
which  had  happened,  and  she  actually  found  she  could 
write  nothing  else.  There  seemed  nothing  else  in  the 
world. 

"Dear  Lord  Coombe/'  trailed  tremulously  over  the  page 
— "The  house  is  quite  empty.  The  servants  have  gone 
away.  I  have  no  money.  And  there  is  not  any  food. 


54  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

And  I  am  going  to  be  turned  out  into  the  street — and  the 
baby  is  crying  because  it  is  hungry." 

She  stopped  there,  knowing  it  was  not  what  she  ought 
to  say.  And  as  she  stopped  and  looked  at  the  words  she 
began  herself  to  wail  somewhat  as  Robin  had  wailed  in  the 
dark  when  she  would  not  listen  or  go  to  her.  It  was  like 
a  beggar's  letter — a  beggar's !  Telling  him  that  she  had 
no  money  and  no  food — and  would  be  turned  out  for 
unpaid  rent.  And  that  the  baby  was  crying  because  it 
was  starving ! 

"It's  a  beggar's  letter — just  a  beggar's/'  she  cried  out 
aloud  to  the  empty  room.  "And  it's  tru-ue!"  Robin's 
wail  itself  had  not  been  more  hopeless  than  hers  was  as 
she  dropped  her  head  and  let  it  lie  on  the  buhl  table. 

She  was  not  however  even  to  be  allowed  to  let  it  lie 
there,  for  the  next  instant  there  fell  on  her  startled  ear 
quite  echoing  through  the  house  another  ring  at  the  door 
bell  and  two  steady  raps  on  the  smart  brass  knocker.  It 
was  merely  because  she  did  not  know  what  else  to  do, 
having  lost  her  wits  entirely  that  she  got  up  and  trailed 
down  the  staircase  again. 

When  she  opened  the  door,  Lord  Coombe — the  apotheosis 
of  exquisite  fitness  in  form  and  perfect  appointment  as  also 
of  perfect  expression — was  standing  on  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IP  HE  had  meant  to  speak  he  changed  his  mind  after 
his  first  sight  of  her.  He  merely  came  in  and  closed 
the  door  behind  him.  Curious  experiences  with 
which  life  had  provided  him  had  added  finish  to  an  innate 
aptness  of  observation,  and  a  fine  readiness  in  action. 

If  she  had  been  of  another  type  he  would  have  saved 
both  her  and  himself  a  scene  and  steered  ably  through  the 
difficulties  of  the  situation  towards  a  point  where  they 
could  have  met  upon  a  normal  plane.  A  very  pretty 
woman  with  whose  affairs  one  has  nothing  whatever  to  do, 
and  whose  pretty  home  has  been  the  perfection  of  modern 
smartness  of  custom,  suddenly  opening  her  front  door  in 
the  unexplained  absence  of  a  footman  and  confronting  a 
visitor,  plainly  upon  the  verge  of  hysteria,  suggests  the 
necessity  of  promptness. 

But  Feather  gave  him  not  a  breath's  space.  She  was  in 
fact  not  merely  on  the  verge  of  her  hysteria.  She  had 
gone  farther.  And  here  he  was.  Oh,  here  he  was !  She 
fell  down  upon  her  knees  and  actually  clasped  his  immac- 
ulateness. 

"Oh,  Lord  Coombe !  Lord  Coombe !  Lord  Coombe  \" 
She  said  it  three  times  because  he  presented  to  her  but 
the  one  idea. 

He  did  not  drag  himself  away  from  her  embrace  but  he 
distinctly  removed  himself  from  it. 

"You  must  not  fall  upon  your  knees,  Mrs.  Lawless,"  he 
said.  "Shall  we  go  into  the  drawing-room?" 

"I — was  writing  to  you.  I  am  starving — but  it  seemed 

55 


56  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

too  silly  when  I  wrote  it.  And  it's  true!'*  Her  broken 
words  were  as  senseless  in  their  sound  as  she  had  thought 
them  when  she  saw  them  written. 

"Will  you  come  up  into  the  drawing-room  and  tell  me 
exactly  what  you  mean,"  he  said  and  he  made  her  release 
him  and  stand  upon  her  feet. 

As  the  years  had  passed  he  had  detached  himself  from 
so  many  weaknesses  and  their  sequelae  of  emotion  that  he 
had  felt  himself  a  safely  unreachable  person.  He  was  not 
young  and  he  knew  enough  of  the  disagreeableness  of  con 
sequences  to  be  adroit  in  keeping  out  of  the  way  of 
apparently  harmless  things  which  might  be  annoying. 
Yet  as  he  followed  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  and  watched  her 
stumbling  up  the  stairs  like  a  punished  child  he  was  aware 
that  he  was  abnormally  in  danger  of  pitying  her  as  he  did 
not  wish  to  pity  people.  The  pity  was  also  something 
apart  from  the  feeling  that  it  was  hideous  that  a  creature 
so  lovely,  so  shallow  and  so  fragile  should  have  been  caught 
in  the  great  wheels  of  Life. 

He  knew  what  he  had  come  to  talk  to  her  about  but  he 
had  really  no  clear  idea  of  what  her  circumstances  actually 
were.  Most  people  had  of  course  guessed  that  her  husband 
had  been  living  on  the  edge  of  his  resources  and  was 
accustomed  to  debt  and  duns,  but  a  lovely  being  greeting 
you  by  clasping  your  knees  and  talking  about  "starving" — 
in  this  particular  street  in  Mayfair,  led  one  to  ask  oneself 
what  one  was  walking  into.  Feather  herself  had  not 
known,  in  fact  neither  had  any  other  human  being  known, 
that  there  was  a  special  reason  why  he  had  drifted  into 
seeming  rather  to  allow  her  about — why  he  had  finally  been 
counted  among  the  frequenters  of  the  narrow  house — and 
why  he  had  seemed  to  watch  her  a  good  deal  sometimes 
with  an  expression  of  serious  interest — sometimes  with  an 
air  of  irritation,  and  sometimes  with  no  expression  at  all. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   57 

But  there  existed  this  reason  and  this  it  was  and  this  alone 
which  had  caused  him  to  appear  upon  her  threshold  and 
it  had  also  been  the  power  which  had  prevented  his  dis 
engaging  himself  with  more  incisive  finality  when  he  found 
himself  ridiculously  clasped  about  the  knees  as  one  who 
played  the  part  of  an  obdurate  parent  in  a  melodrama. 

Once  in  the  familiar  surroundings  of  her  drawing-room 
her  ash-gold  blondness  and  her  black  gauzy  frock  height 
ened  all  her  effects  so  extraordinarily  that  he  frankly 
admitted  to  himself  that  she  possessed  assets  which  would 
have  modified  most  things  to  most  men. 

As  for  Feather,  when  she  herself  beheld  him  against  the 
background  of  the  same  intimate  aspects,  the  effect  of  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  the  manner  in  which  he  sat  down  in  a 
chair  and  a  certain  remotely  dim  hint  in  the  hue  of  his 
clothes  and  an  almost  concealed  note  of  some  touch  of 
colour  which  scarcely  seemed  to  belong  to  anything  worn 
— were  so  reminiscent  of  the  days  which  now  seemed  past 
forever  that  she  began  to  cry  again. 

He  received  this  with  discreet  lack  of  melodrama  of  tone. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,  Mrs.  Lawless,"  he  said,  "or  I 
shall  burst  into  tears  myself.  I  am  a  sensitive  creature." 

"Oh,  do  say  'Feather'  instead  of  Mrs.  Lawless,"  she 
implored.  "Sometimes  you  said  'Feather'." 

"I  will  say  it  now,"  he  answered,  "if  you  will  not  weep. 
It  is  an  adorable  name." 

"I  feel  as  if  I  should  never  hear  it  again,"  she  shuddered, 
trying  to  dry  her  eyes.  "It  is  all  over !" 

"What  is  all  over?" 

"This — !"  turning  a  hopeless  gaze  upon  the  two  tiny 
rooms  crowded  with  knick-knacks  and  nonsense.  "The 
parties  and  the  fun — and  everything  in  the  world!  I 
have  only  had  some  biscuits  and  raisins  to  eat  today — and 
the  landlord  is  going  to  turn  me  out." 


58  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

It  seemed  almost  too  preposterous  to  quite  credit  that 
she  was  uttering  naked  truth. — And  yet — I  After  a 
second's  gaze  at  her  he  repeated  what  he  had  said  below 
stairs. 

"Will  you  tell  me  exactly  what  you  mean?" 

Then  he  sat  still  and  listened  while  she  poured  it  all 
forth.  And  as  he  listened  he  realized  that  it  was  the  mere 
every  day  fact  that  they  were  sitting  in  the  slice  of  a 
house  with  the  cream-coloured  front  and  the  great  lady  in 
her  mansion  on  one  side  and  the  millionaire  and  his 
splendours  on  the  other,  which  peculiarly  added  to  a 
certain  hint  of  gruesomeness  in  the  situation. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  add  colour  and  desperation  to 
the  story.  Any  effort  Feather  had  made  in  that  direction 
would  only  have  detracted  from  the  nakedness  of  its  stark 
facts.  They  were  quite  enough  in  themselves  in  their 
normal  inevitableness.  Feather  in  her  pale  and  totally 
undignified  panic  presented  the  whole  thing  with  clearness 
which  had — without  being  aided  by  her — an  actual  dra 
matic  value.  This  in  spite  of  her  mental  dartings  to  and 
from  and  dragging  in  of  points  and  bits  of  scenes  which 
were  not  connected  with  each  other.  Only  a  brain  whose 
processes  of  inclusion  and  exclusion  were  final  and  rapid 
could  have  followed  her.  Coombe  watched  her  closely  as 
she  talked.  No  grief-stricken  young  widowed  loneliness 
and  heart-break  were  the  background  of  her  anguish.  She 
was  her  own  background  and  also  her  own  foreground. 
The  strength  of  the  fine  body  laid  prone  on  the  bed  of  the 
room  she  held  in  horror,  the  white  rigid  face  whose  good 
looks  had  changed  to  something  she  could  not  bear  to 
remember,  had  no  pathos  which  was  not  concerned  with 
the  fact  that  Eobert  had  amazingly  and  unnaturally  failed 
her  by  dying  and  leaving  her  nothing  but  unpaid  bills. 
This  truth  indeed  made  the  situation  more  poignantly  and 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE  59 

finally  squalid,  as  she  brought  forth  one  detail  after  an 
other.  There  were  bills  which  had  been  accumulating  ever 
since  they  began  their  life  in  the  narrow  house,  there  had 
been  trades-people  who  had  been  juggled  with,  promises 
made  and  supported  by  adroit  tricks  and  cleverly  invented 
misrepresentations  and  lies  which  neither  of  the  pair  had 
felt  any  compunctions  about  and  had  indeed  laughed  over. 
Coombe  saw  it  all  though  he  also  saw  that  Feather  did  not 
know  all  she  was  telling  him.  He  could  realize  the  grad 
ually  increasing  pressure  and  anger  at  tricks  which  be 
trayed  themselves,  and  the  gathering  determination  on  the 
part  of  the  creditors  to  end  the  matter  in  the  only  way  in 
which  it  could  be  ended.  It  had  come  to  this  before  Eob- 
ert's  illness,  and  Feather  herself  had  heard  of  fierce  inter 
views  and  had  seen  threatening  letters,  but  she  had  not  be 
lieved  they  could  mean  all  they  implied.  Since  things  had 
been  allowed  to  go  on  so  long  she  felt  that  they  would 
surely  go  on  longer  in  the  same  way.  There  had  been  some 
serious  threatening  about  the  rent  and  the  unpaid-for 
furniture.  Robert's  supporting  idea  had  been  that  he 
might  perhaps  "get  something  out  of  Lawdor  who  wouldn't 
enjoy  being  the  relation  of  a  fellow  who  was  turned  into 
the  street !" 

"He  ought  to  have  done  something,"  Feather  plained. 
"Robert  would  have  been  Lord  Lawdor  himself  if  his  uncle 
had  died  before  he  had  all  those  disgusting  children." 

She  was  not  aware  that  Coombe  frequently  refrained 
from  saying  things  to  her — but  occasionally  allowed  him 
self  not  to  refrain.  He  did  not  refrain  now  from  making 
a  simple  comment. 

"But  he  is  extremely  robust  and  he  has  the  children. 
Six  stalwart  boys  and  a  stalwart  girl.  Family  feeling 
has  apparently  gone  out  of  fashion." 

As  she  wandered  on  with  her  story  he  mentally  felt  him- 


60  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

self  actually  dragged  into  the  shrimp-pink  bedroom  and 
standing  an  onlooker  when  the  footman  outside  the  door 
"did  not  know"  where  Tonson  had  gone.  For  a  moment 
he  felt  conscious  of  the  presence  of  some  scent  which  would 
have  been  sure  to  exhale  itself  from  draperies  and  ward 
robe.  He  saw  Cook  put  the  account  books  on  the  small 
table,  he  heard  her,  he  also  comprehended  her.  And 
Feather  at  the  window  breathlessly  watching  the  two  cabs 
with  the  servants'  trunks  on  top,  and  the  servants  respect 
ably  unprofessional  in  attire  and  going  away  quietly 
without  an  unpractical  compunction — he  saw  these  also 
and  comprehended  knowing  exactly  why  compunctions  had 
no  part  in  latter-day  domestic  arrangements.  Why  should 
they? 

When  Feather  reached  the  point  where  it  became  neces 
sary  to  refer  to  Eobin  some  fortunate  memory  of  Alice's 
past  warnings  caused  her  to  feel — quite  suddenly — that 
certain  details  might  be  eliminated. 

"She  cried  a  little  at  first,"  she  said,  "but  she  fell  asleep 
afterwards.  I  was  glad  she  did  because  I  was  afraid  to  go 
to  her  in  the  dark." 

"Was  she  in  the  dark?" 

"I  think  so.  Perhaps  Louisa  taught  her  to  sleep  with 
out  a  light.  There  was  none  when  I  took  her  some  con 
densed  milk  this  morning.  There  was  only  c-con-d-densed 
milk  to  give  her." 

She  shed  tears  and  choked  as  she  described  her  journey 
into  the  lower  regions  and  the  cockroaches  scuttling  away 
before  her  into  their  hiding-places. 

"I  must  have  a  nurse!  I  must  have  one!"  she  almost 
sniffed.  "Someone  must  change  her  clothes  and  give  her 
a  bath  I" 

"You  can't?"  Coombe  said. 

"I !"  dropping  her  handkerchief.     "How — how  can  I  ?" 


"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  and  picked  up  the  hand 
kerchief  with  an  aloof  grace  of  manner. 

It  was  really  Eobin  who  was  for  Feather  the  breaking- 
point. 

He  thought  she  was  in  danger  of  flinging  herself  upon 
him  again.  She  caught  at  his  arm  and  her  eyes  of  lark 
spur  blue  were  actually  wild. 

"Don't  you  see  where  I  am !  How  there  is  nothing  and 
nobody — Don't  you  see?" 

"Yes,  I  see,"  he  answered.  "You  are  quite  right. 
There  is  nothing  and  nobody.  I  have  been  to  Lawdor 
myself." 

"You  have  been  to  tall:  to  him  ?" 

"Yesterday.  That  was  my  reason  for  coming  here.  He 
will  not  see  you  or  be  written  to.  He  says  he  knows  better 
than  to  begin  that  sort  of  thing.  It  may  be  that  family 
feeling  has  not  the  vogue  it  once  had,  but  you  may  recall 
that  your  husband  infuriated  him  years  ago.  Also  England 
is  a  less  certain  quantity  than  it  once  was — and  the  man 
has  a  family.  He  will  allow  you  a  hundred  a  year  but 
there  he  draws  the  line." 

"A  hundred  a  year !"  Feather  breathed.  From  her 
delicate  shoulders  hung  floating  scarf -like  sleeves  of  black 
transparency  and  she  lifted  one  of  them  and  held  it  out 
like  a  night  moth's  wing — "This  cost  forty  pounds,"  she 
said,  her  voice  quite  faint  and  low.  "A  good  nurse  would 
cost  forty !  A  cook — and  a  footman  and  a  maid — and  a 
coachman — and  the  brougham — I  don't  know  how  much 
they  would  cost.  Oh-h !" 

She  drooped  forward  upon  her  sofa  and  laid  face  down 
ward  on  a  cushion — slim,  exquisite  in  line,  lost  in  despair. 

The  effect  produced  was  that  she  gave  herself  into  his 
hands.  He  felt  as  well  as  saw  it  and  considered.  She  had 
no  suggestion  to  offer,  no  reserve.  There  she  was. 


62   THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"It  is  an  incredible  sort  of  situation,"  he  said  in  an 
even,  low-pitched  tone  rather  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud, 
"but  it  is  baldly  real.  It  is  actually  simple.  In  a  street 

in  Mayfair  a  woman  and  child  might "  He  hesitated 

a  second  and  a  wailed  word  came  forth  from  the  cushion. 

"Starve !" 

He  moved  slightly  and  continued. 

"Since  their  bills  have  not  been  paid  the  trades-people 
will  not  send  in  food.  Servants  will  not  stay  in  a  house 
where  they  are  not  fed  and  receive  no  wages.  No  land 
lord  will  allow  a  tenant  to  occupy  his  property  unless  he 
pays  rent.  It  may  sound  inhuman — but  it  is  only  human." 

The  cushion  in  which  Feather's  face  was  buried  retained 
a  faint  scent  of  Kobert's  cigar  smoke  and  the  fragrance 
brought  back  to  her  things  she  had  heard  him  say  dis 
passionately  about  Lord  Coombe  as  well  as  about  other 
men.  He  had  not  been  a  puritanic  or  condemnatory 
person.  She  seemed  to  see  herself  groveling  again  on  the 
floor  of  her  bedroom  and  to  feel  the  darkness  and  silence 
through  which  she  had  not  dared  to  go  to  Eobin. 

Not  another  night  like  that!     No!     No! 

"You  must  go  to  Jersey  to  your  mother  and  father," 
Coombe  said.  "A  hundred  a  year  will  help  you  there  in 
your  own  home." 

Then  she  sat  upright  and  there  was  something  in  her 
lovely  little  countenance  he  had  never  seen  before.  It  was 
actually  determination. 

"I  have  heard,"  she  said,  "of  poor  girls  who  were  driven 
— by  starvation  to — to  go  on  the  streets.  I — would  go 
anywhere  before  I  would  go  back  there." 

"Anywhere !"  he  repeated,  his  own  countenance  express 
ing — or  rather  refusing  to  express  something  as  new  as 
the  thing  he  had  seen  in  her  own. 

"Anywhere !"  she  cried  and  then  she  did  what  he  had 


THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   63 

thought  her  on  the  verge  of  doing  a  few  minutes  earlier — 
she  fell  at  his  feet  and  embraced  his  knees.  She  clung  to 
him,  she  sobbed,  her  pretty  hair  loosened  itself  and  fell 
about  her  in  wild  but  enchanting  disorder. 

"Oh,  Lord  Coombe !  Oh,  Lord  Coombe!  Oh,  Lord 
Coombe !"  she  cried  as  she  had  cried  in  the  hall. 

He  rose  and  endeavoured  to  disengage  himself  as  he  had 
done  before.  This  time  with  less  success  because  she 
would  not  let  him  go.  He  had  the  greatest  possible  objec 
tion  to  scenes. 

"Mrs.  Lawless — Feather — I  beg  you  will  get  up,"  he 
said. 

But  she  had  reached  the  point  of  not  caring  what 
happened  if  she  could  keep  him.  He  was  a  gentleman — 
he  had  everything  in  the  world.  What  did  it  matter  ? 

"I  have  no  one  but  you  and — and  you  always  seemed  to 
like  me.  I  would  do  anything — anyone  asked  me,  if  they 
would  take  care  of  me.  I  have  always  liked  you  very  much 
— and  I  did  amuse  you — didn't  I?  You  liked  to  come 
here." 

There  was  something  poignant  about  her  delicate  dis 
traught  loveliness  and,  in  the  remoteness  of  his  being,  a 
shuddering  knowledge  that  it  was  quite  true  that  she 
would  do  anything  for  any  man  who  would  take  care  of 
her,  produced  an  effect  on  him  nothing  else  would  have 
produced.  Also  a  fantastic  and  finely  ironic  vision  of 
Joseph  and  Potiphar's  wife  rose  before  him  and  the  vision 
of  himself  as  Joseph  irked  a  certain  complexness  of  his 
mentality.  Poignant  as  the  thing  was  in  its  modern  way, 
it  was  also  faintly  ridiculous. 

Then  Eobin  awakened  and  shrieked  again.  The  sound 
which  had  gained  strength  through  long  sleep  and  also 
through  added  discomfort  quite  rang  through  the  house.' 
What  that  sound  added  to  the  moment  he  himself  would 


64  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

not  have  been  able  to  explain  until  long  afterwards.  But, 
it  singularly  and  impellingly  added. 

"Listen!"  panted  Feather.  "She  has  begun  again. 
And  there  is  no  one  to  go  to  her." 

"Get  up,  Mrs.  Lawless,"  he  said.  "Do  I  understand  that 
you  are  willing  that  I  should  arrange  this  for  you !" 

He  helped  her  to  her  feet. 

"Do  you  mean — really !"  she  faltered.     "Will  you — will 

vrvu— — —  ? 
juu 

Her  uplifted  eyes  were  like  a  young  angel's  brimming 
with  crystal  drops  which  slipped — as  a  child's  tears  slip — 
down  her  cheeks.  She  clasped  her  hands  in  exquisite 
appeal.  He  stood  for  a  moment  quite  still,  his  mind  fled 
far  away  and  he  forgot  where  he  was.  And  because  of 
this  the  little  simpleton's  shallow  discretion  deserted  her. 

"If  you  were  a — a  marrying  man — ?"  she  said  fool 
ishly — almost  in  a  whisper. 

He  recovered  himself. 

"I  am  not,"  with  a  finality  which  cut  as  cleanly  as  a 
surgical  knife. 

Something  which  was  not  the  words  was  of  a  succinct 
ness  which  filled  her  with  new  terror. 

"I — I  know !"  she  whimpered,  "I  only  said  if  you  were !" 

"If  I  were — in  this  instance — it  would  make  no  differ 
ence."  He  saw  the  kind  of  slippery  silliness  he  was 
dealing  with  and  what  it  might  transform  itself  into  if 
allowed  a  loophole.  "There  must  be  no  mistakes." 

In  her  fright  she  saw  him  for  a  moment  more  distinctly 
than  she  had  ever  seen  him  before  and  hideous  dread  beset 
her  lest  she  had  blundered  fatally. 

"There  shall  be  none,"  she  gasped.  "I  always  knew. 
There  shall  be  none  at  all." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  asking  me  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  yes — I'm  not  a  girl,  you  know.     I've  been  married. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  65 

I  won't  go  home.  I  can't  starve  or  live  in  awful  lodgings. 
Somebody  must  save  me !" 

"Do  you  know  what  people  will  say?"  his  steady  voice 
was  slightly  lower. 

"It  won't  be  said  to  me."  Eather  wildly.  "Nobody 
minds — really." 

He  ceased  altogether  to  look  serious.  He  smiled  with 
the  light  detached  air  his  world  was  most  familiar  with. 

"No — they  don't  really,"  he  answered.  "I  had,  how 
ever,  a  slight  preference  for  knowing  whether  you  would 
mind  or  not.  You  flatter  me  by  intimating  that  you 
would  not." 

He  knew  that  if  he  had  held  out  an  arm  she  would  have 
fallen  upon  his  breast  and  wept  there,  but  he  was  not  at 
the  moment  in  the  mood  to  hold  out  an  arm.  He  merely 
touched  hers  with  a  light  pressure. 

"Let  us  sit  down  and  talk  it  over,"  he  suggested. 

A  hansom  drove  up  to  the  door  and  stopped  before  he 
had  time  to  seat  himself.  Hearing  it  he  went  to  the 
window  and  saw  a  stout  businesslike  looking  man  get  out, 
accompanied  by  an  attendant.  There  followed  a  loud, 
authoritative  ringing  of  the  bell  and  an  equally  author 
itative  rap  of  the  knocker.  This  repeated  itself.  Feather, 
who  had  run  to  the  window  and  caught  sight  of  the  stout 
man,  clutched  his  sleeve. 

"It's  the  agent  we  took  the  house  from.  We  always 
said  we  were  out.  It's  either  Carson  or  Bayle.  I  don't 
know  which." 

Coombe  walked  toward  the  staircase. 

"You  can't  open  the  door !"  she  shrilled. 

"He  has  doubtless  come  prepared  to  open  it  himself," 
he  answered  and  proceeded  at  leisure  down  the  narrow 
stairway. 

The  caller  had  come  prepared.     By  the  time  Coombe 


66  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

stood  in  the  hall  a  latchkey  was  put  in  the  keyhole  and, 
being  turned,  the  door  opened  to  let  in  Carson — or  Bayle 
— who  entered  with  an  air  of  angered  determination, 
followed  by  his  young  man. 

The  physical  presence  of  the  Head  of  the  House  of 
Coombe  was  always  described  as  a  subtly  impressive  one. 
Several  centuries  of  rather  careful  breeding  had  resulted 
in  its  seeming  to  represent  things  by  silent  implication. 
A  man  who  has  never  found  the  necessity  of  explaining  or 
excusing  himself  inevitably  presents  a  front  wholly  un- 
suggestive  of  uncertainty.  The  front  Coombe  presented 
merely  awaited  explanations  from  others. 

Carson — or  Bayle — had  doubtless  contemplated  seeing 
a  frightened  servant  trying  to  prepare  a  stammering 
obvious  lie.  He  confronted  a  tall,  thin  man  about  whom 
— even  if  his  clothes  had  been  totally  different — there 
could  be  no  mistake.  He  stood  awaiting  an  apology  so 
evidently  that  Carson — or  Bayle — began  to  stammer  him 
self  even  before  he  had  time  to  dismiss  from  his  voice  the 
suggestion  of  bluster.  It  would  have  irritated  Coombe 
immensely  if  he  had  known  that  he — and  a  certain  over 
coat — had  been  once  pointed  out  to  the  man  at  Sandown 
and  that — in  consequence  of  the  overcoat — he  vaguely 
recognized  him. 

"I — I  beg  pardon,"  he  began. 

"Quite  so,"  said  Coombe. 

"Some  tenants  came  to  look  at  the  house  this  morn 
ing.  They  had  an  order  to  view  from  us.  They  were 
sent  away,  my  lord — and  decline  to  come  back.  The  rent 
has  not  been  paid  since  the  first  half  year.  There  is  no 
one  now  who  can  even  pretend  it's  going  to  be  paid.  Some 
step  had  to  be  taken." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Coombe.  "Suppose  you  step  into  the 
dining-room." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  67 

He  led  the  pair  into  the  room  and  pointed  to  chairs,  but 
neither  the  agent  nor  his  attendant  was  calm  enough  to 
sit  down. 

Coombe  merely  stood  and  explained  himself. 

"I  quite  understand,"  he  said.  "You  are  entirely  within 
your  rights.  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  is,  naturally,  not  able 
to  attend  to  business.  For  the  present — as  a  friend  of  her 
late  husband's — I  will  arrange  matters  for  her.  I  am 
Lord  Coombe.  She  does  not  wish  to  give  up  the  house. 
Don't  send  any  more  possible  tenants.  Call  at  Coombe 
House  in  an  hour  and  I  will  give  you  a  cheque." 

There  were  a  few  awkward  apologetic  moments  and  then 
the  front  door  opened  and  shut,  the  hansom  jingled  away 
and  Coombe  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  Eobin  was 
still  shrieking. 

"She  wants  some  more  condensed  milk,"  he  said.  "Don't 
be  frightened.  Go  and  give  her  some.  I  know  an  elderly 
woman  who  understands  children.  She  was  a  nurse  some 
years  ago.  I  will  send  her  here  at  once.  Kindly  give  me 
the  account  books.  My  housekeeper  will  send  you  some 
servants.  The  trades-people  will  come  for  orders." 

Feather  was  staring  at  him. 

"W-will  they  ?"  she  stammered.    "W-will  everything —  ?" 

"Yes — everything,"  he  answered.  "Don't  be  frightened. 
Go  upstairs  and  try  to  stop  her.  I  must  go  now.  I  never 
heard  a  creature  yell  with  such  fury." 

She  turned  away  and  went  towards  the  second  flight  of 
the  stairs  with  a  rather  dazed  air.  She  had  passed 
through  a  rather  tremendous  crisis  and  she  was  dazed. 
He  made  her  feel  so.  She  had  never  understood  him  for  a 
moment  and  she  did  not  understand  him  now — but  then  she 
never  did  understand  people  and  the  whole  situation  was  a 
new  one  to  her.  If  she  had  not  been  driven  to  the  wall  she 
would  have  been  quite  as  respectable  as  she  knew  how  to  be. 


68  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE 

Coombe  called  a  hansom  and  drove  home,  thinking  of 
many  things  and  looking  even  more  than  usually  detached. 
He  had  remarked  the  facial  expression  of  the  short  and 
stout  man  as  he  had  got  into  his  cab  and  he  was  turning 
over  mentally  his  own  exact  knowledge  of  the  views  the 
business  mind  would  have  held  and  what  the  business 
countenance  would  have  decently  covered  if  he — Coombe — 
had  explained  in  detail  that  he  was  so  far — in  this  par 
ticular  case — an  entirely  blameless  character. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  slice  of  a  house  from  that  time  forward  pre 
sented  the  external  aspect  to  which  the  inhabitants 
of  the  narrow  and  fashionable  street  and  those  who 
passed  through  it  had  been  accustomed.  Such  individuals 
as  had  anticipated  beholding  at  some  early  day  notices 
conspicuously  placed  announcing  "Sale  by  Auction. 
Elegant  Modern  Furniture"  were  vaguely  puzzled  as  well 
as  surprised  by  the  fact  that  no  such  notices  appeared  even 
inconspicuously.  Also  there  did  not  draw  up  before  the 
door — even  as  the  weeks  went  on — huge  and  heavy  removal 
vans  with  their  resultant  litter,  their  final  note  of  farewell 
a  "To  Let"  in  the  front  windows. 

On  the  contrary,  the  florist  came  and  refilled  the  window 
boxes  with  an  admirable  arrangement  of  fresh  flowers; 
new  and  even  more  correct  servants  were  to  be  seen 
ascending  and  descending  the  area  step ;  a  young  footman 
quite  as  smart  as  the  departed  Edward  opened  the  front 
door  and  attended  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  to  her  perfect 
little  brougham.  The  trades-people  appeared  promptly 
every  day  and  were  obsequiously  respectful  in  manner. 
Evidently  the  household  had  not  disintegrated  as  a  result 
of  the  death  of  Mr.  Gareth-Lawless. 

As  it  became  an  established  fact  that  the  household  had 
not  fallen  to  pieces  its  frequenters  gradually  returned  to 
it,  wearing  indeed  the  air  of  people  who  had  never  really 
remained  away  from  it.  There  had  been  natural  reasons 
enough  for  considerate  absence  from  a  house  of  bereave 
ment  and  a  desolate  widow  upon  whose  grief  it  would  have 

69 


70  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE 

been  indelicate  to  intrude.  As  Feather  herself  had  real 
ized,  the  circle  of  her  intimates  was  not  formed  of  those 
who  could  readily  adjust  themselves  to  entirely  changed 
circumstances.  If  you  dance  on  a  tight  rope  and  the  rope 
is  unexpectedly  withdrawn,  where  are  you?  You  cannot 
continue  dancing  until  the  rope  is  restrung. 

The  rope,  however,  being  apparently  made  absolutely 
secure,  it  was  not  long  before  the  dancing  began  again. 
Feather's  mourning,  wonderfully  shading  itself  from 
month  to  month,  was  the  joy  of  all  beholders.  Madame 
Helene  treated  her  as  a  star  gleaming  through  gradually 
dispersing  clouds.  Her  circle  watched  her  with  secretly 
humorous  interest  as  each  fine  veil  of  dimness  was  with 
drawn. 

"The  things  she  wears  are  priceless,"  was  said  amiably 
in  her  own  drawing-room.  "Where  does  she  get  them? 
Figure  to  yourself  Lawdor  paying  the  bills." 

"She  gets  them  from  Helene,"  said  a  long  thin  young 
man  with  a  rather  good-looking  narrow  face  and  dark 
eyes,  peering  through  pince  nez,  "But  I  couldn't." 

In  places  where  entertainment  as  a  means  of  existence 
proceed  so  to  speak,  fast  and  furiously,  questions  of  taste 
are  not  dwelt  upon  at  leisure.  You  need  not  hesitate 
before  saying  anything  you  liked  in  any  one's  drawing- 
room  so  long  as  it  was  amusing  enough  to  make  somebody 
— if  not  everybody — laugh.  Feather  had  made  people 
laugh  in  the  same  fashion  in  the  past.  The  persons  she 
most  admired  were  always  making  sly  little  impudent 
comments  and  suggestions,  and  the  thwarted  years  on  the 
island  of  Jersey  had,  in  her  case,  resulted  in  an  almost 
hectic  desire  to  keep  pace.  Her  efforts  had  usually  been 
successes  because  Nature's  self  had  provided  her  with  the 
manner  of  a  silly  pretty  child  who  did  not  know  how  far 
she  went.  Shouts  of  laughter  had  often  greeted  her,  and 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  71 

the  first  time  she  had  for  a  moment  doubted  her  prowess 
was  on  an  occasion  when  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Coombe  who  stared  at  her  with  an  expression  which 
she  would — just  for  one  second — have  felt  might  be  horror, 
if  she  had  not  been  so  sure  it  couldn't  be,  and  must  of 
course  be  something  else — one  of  the  things  nobody  ever 
understood  in  him. 

By  the  time  the  softly  swathing  veils  of  vaporous  dark 
ness  were  withdrawn,  and  the  tight  rope  assuring  every 
one  of  its  permanent  security  became  a  trusted  support, 
Feather  at  her  crowded  little  parties  and  at  other  people's 
bigger  ones  did  not  remain  wholly  unaware  of  the  prob 
ability  that  even  people  who  rather  liked  her  made,  among 
themselves,  more  or  less  witty  comments  upon  her  improved 
fortunes.  They  were  improved  greatly.  Bills  were  paid, 
trades-people  were  polite,  servants  were  respectful ;  she  had 
no  need  to  invent  excuses  and  lies.  She  and  Eobert  had 
always  kept  out  of  the  way  of  stodgy,  critical  people,  so 
they  had  been  intimate  with  none  of  the  punctilious  who 
might  have  withdrawn  themselves  from  a  condition  of 
things  they  chose  to  disapprove:  accordingly,  she  found 
no  gaps  in  her  circle.  Those  who  had  formed  the  habit 
of  amusing  themselves  at  her  house  were  as  ready  as  before 
to  amuse  themselves  again. 

The  fact  remained,  however, — curiously,  perhaps,  in 
connection  with  the  usual  slightness  of  all  impressions 
made  on  her — that  there  was  a  memory  which  never  wholly 
left  her.  Eyen  when  she  tried  to  force  it  so  far  into  the 
background  of  her  existence  that  it  might  almost  be 
counted  as  forgotten,  it  had  a  trick  of  rising  before  her. 
It  was  the  memory  of  the  empty  house  as  its  emptiness 
had  struck  to  the  centre  of  her  being  when  she  had  turned 
from  her  bedroom  window  after  watching  the  servants 
drive  away  in  their  cabs.  It  was  also  the  memory  of  the 


72  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

hours  which  had  followed — the  night  in  which  nobody  had 
been  in  any  of  the  rooms — no  one  had  gone  up  or  down 
the  stairs — when  all  had  seemed  dark  and  hollow — except 
the  Night  Nursery  where  Eobin  screamed,  and  her  own 
room  where  she  herself  cowered  under  the  bed  clothes  and 
pulled  the  pillow  over  her  head.  But  though  the  picture 
would  not  let  itself  be  blotted  out,  its  effect  was  rather 
to  intensify  her  sense  of  relief  because  she  had  slipped  so 
safely  from  under  the  wheels  of  destiny. 

"Sometimes,"  she  revealed  artlessly  to  Coombe,  "while 
I  am  driving  in  the  park  on  a  fine  afternoon  when  every 
one  is  out  and  the  dresses  look  like  the  flower  beds,  I  let 
myself  remember  it  just  to  make  myself  enjoy  everything 
more  by  contrast." 

The  elderly  woman  who  had  been  a  nurse  in  her  youth 
and  who  had  been  sent  by  Lord  Coombe  temporarily  to 
replace  Louisa  had  not  remained  long  in  charge  of  Robin. 
She  was  not  young  and  smart  enough  for  a  house  on  the 
right  side  of  the  right  street,  and  Feather  found  a  young 
person  who  looked  exactly  as  she  should  when  she  pushed 
the  child's  carriage  before  her  around  the  square. 

The  square — out  of  which  the  right  street  branches — 
and  the  "Gardens"  in  the  middle  of  the  square  to  which 
only  privileged  persons  were  admitted  by  private  key,  the 
basement  kitchen  and  Servants'  Hall,  and  the  two  top 
floor  nurseries  represented  the  world  to  the  child  Eobin 
for  some  years.  When  she  was  old  enough  to  walk  in  the 
street  she  was  led  by  the  hand  over  the  ground  she  had 
travelled  daily  in  her  baby  carriage.  Her  first  memory  of 
things  was  a  memory  of  standing  on  the  gravel  path  in  the 
Square  Gardens  and  watching  some  sparrows  quarrel  while 
Andrews,  her  nurse,  sat  on  a  bench  with  another  nurse 
and  talked  in  low  tones.  They  were  talking  in  a  way 
Eobin  always  connected  with  servants  and  which  she 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   73 

naturally  accepted  as  being  the  method  of  expression  of 
their  species — much  as  she  accepted  the  mewing  of  cats 
and  the  barking  of  dogs.  As  she  grew  older,  she  reached 
the  stage  of  knowing  that  they  were  generally  saying 
things  they  did  not  wish  her  to  hear. 

She  liked  watching  the  sparrows  in  the  Gardens  because 
she  liked  watching  sparrows  at  all  times.  They  were  the 
only  friends  she  had  ever  known,  though  she  was  not  old 
enough  to  call  them  friends,  or  to  know  what  friends 
meant.  Andrews  had  taught  her,  by  means  of  a  system 
of  her  own,  to  know  better  than  to  cry  or  to  make  any 
protesting  noise  when  she  was  left  alone  in  her  ugly  small 
nursery.  Andrews'  idea  of  her  duties  did  not  involve  bor 
ing  herself  to  death  by  sitting  in  a  room  on  the  top  floor 
when  livelier  entertainment  awaited  her  in  the  basement 
where  the  cook  was  a  woman  of  wide  experience,  the  house 
maid  a  young  person  who  had  lived  in  gay  country  houses, 
and  the  footman  at  once  a  young  man  of  spirit  and  humour. 
So  Eobin  spent  many  hours  of  the  day — taking  them  alto 
gether — quite  by  herself.  She  might  have  more  potently 
resented  her  isolations  if  she  had  ever  known  any  other 
condition  than  that  of  a  child  in  whom  no  one  was  in  the 
least  interested  and  in  whom  "being  good"  could  only 
mean  being  passive  under  neglect  and  calling  no  one's 
attention  to  the  fact  that  she  wanted  anything  from  any 
body.  As  a  bird  born  in  captivity  lives  in  its  cage  and 
perhaps  believes  it  to  be  the  world,  Eobin  lived  in  her 
nursery  and  knew  every  square  inch  of  it  with  a  deadly  if 
unconscious  sense  of  distaste  and  fatigue.  She  was  put 
to  bed  and  taken  up,  she  was  fed  and  dressed  in  it,  and 
once  a  day — twice  perhaps  if  Andrews  chose — she  was 
taken  out  of  it  downstairs  and  into  the  street.  That 
was  all.  And  that  was  why  she  liked  the  sparrows  so 
much. 


74  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

And  sparrows  are  worth  watching  if  you  live  in  a  nursery 
where  nothing  ever  happens  and  where,  when  you  look 
out,  you  are  so  high  up  that  it  is  not  easy  to  see  the  people 
in  the  world  below,  in  addition  to  which  it  seems  nearly 
always  raining.  Robin  used  to  watch  them  hopping  about 
on  the  slate  roofs  of  the  houses  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street.  They  fluttered  their  wings,  they  picked  up  straws 
and  carried  them  away.  She  thought  they  must  have 
houses  of  their  own  among  the  chimneys — in  places  she 
could  not  see.  She  fancied  it  would  be  nice  to  hop  about 
on  the  top  of  a  roof  oneself  if  one  were  not  at  all  afraid 
of  falling.  She  liked  the  chippering  and  chirping  sounds 
the  birds  made  because  it  sounded  like  talking  and  laugh 
ing — like  the  talking  and  laughing  she  sometimes  wakened 
out  of  her  sleep  to  lie  and  listen  to  when  the  Lady  Down 
stairs  had  a  party.  She  often  wondered  what  the  people 
were  doing  because  it  sounded  as  if  they  liked  doing  it 
yery  much. 

Sometimes  when  it  had  rained  two  or  three  days  she 
had  a  feeling  which  made  her  begin  to  cry  to  herself — but 
not  aloud.  She  had  once  had  a  little  black  and  blue  mark 
on  her  arm  for  a  week  where  Andrews  had  pinched  her 
because  she  had  cried  loud  enough  to  be  heard.  It  had 
seemed  to  her  that  Andrews  twisted  and  pinched  the  bit 
of  flesh  for  five  minutes  without  letting  it  go  and  she  had 
held  her  large  hand  over  her  mouth  as  she  did  it. 

"Now  you  keep  that  in  your  mind,"  she  had  said  when 
she  had  finished  and  Robin  had  almost  choked  in  her 
awful  little  struggle  to  keep  back  all  sound. 

The  one  thing  Andrews  was  surest  of  was  that  nobody 
would  come  upstairs  to  the  Nursery  to  inquire  the  meaning 
of  any  cries  which  were  not  unearthly  enough  to  disturb 
the  household.  So  it  was  easy  to  regulate  the  existence  of 
her  charge  in  such  a  manner  as  best  suited  herself. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   75 

"Just  give  her  food  enough  and  keep  her  from  making 
silly  noises  when  she  wants  what  she  doesn't  get,"  said 
Andrews  to  her  companions  below  stairs.  "That  one  in 
the  drawing-room  isn't  going  to  interfere  with  the 
Nursery.  Not  her  !  I  know  my  business  and  I  know  how 
to  manage  her  kind.  I  go  to  her  politely  now  and  then 
and  ask  her  permission  to  buy  things  from  Best's  or 
Liberty's  or  some  other  good  place.  She  always  stares 
a  minute  when  I  begin,  as  if  she  scarcely  understood  what 
I  was  talking  about  and  then  she  says  'Oh,  yes,  I  suppose 
she  must  have  them/  And  I  go  and  get  them.  I  keep 
her  as  well  dressed  as  any  child  in  Mayfair.  And  she's 
been  a  beauty  since  she  was  a  year  old  so  she  looks  first 
rate  when  I  wheel  her  up  and  down  the  street,  so  the  people 
can  see  she's  well  taken  care  of  and  not  kept  hidden 
away.  No  one  can  complain  of  her  looks  and  nobody  is 
bothered  with  her.  That's  all  that's  wanted  of  me.  I 
get  good  wages  and  I  get  them  regular.  I  don't  turn 
up  my  nose  at  a  place  like  this,  whatever  the  outside 
talk  is.  Who  cares  in  these  days  anyway?  Fashionable 
people's  broader  minded  than  they  used  to  be.  In  Queen 
Victoria's  young  days  they  tell  me  servants  were  no  class 
that  didn't  live  in  families  where  they  kept  the  com 
mandments/' 

"Fat  lot  the  commandments  give  any  one  trouble  in 
these  times,"  said  Jennings,  the  footman,  who  was  a  wit. 
"There's  one  of  'em  I  could  mention  that's  been  broken 
till  there's  no  bits  of  it  left  to  keep.  If  I  smashed  that 
plate  until  it  was  powder  it'd  have  to  be  swept  into  the 
dust  din.  That's  what  happened  to  one  or  two  command 
ments  in  particular." 

"Well,"  remarked  Mrs.  Blayne,  the  cook,  "she  don't 
interfere  and  he  pays  the  bills  prompt.  That'll  do  me 
instead  of  commandments.  If  you'll  believe  me,  my 


76  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

mother  told  me  that  in  them  Queen  Victoria  days  ladies 
used  to  inquire  about  cold  meat  and  ask  what  was  done 
with  the  dripping.  Civilization's  gone  beyond  that — 
commandments  or  no  commandments." 

"He's  precious  particular  about  bills  being  paid/'  vol 
unteered  Jennings,  with  the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world. 
"I  heard  him  having  a  row  with  her  one  day  about  some 
bills  she  hadn't  paid.  She'd  spent  the  money  for  some 
nonsense  and  he  was  pretty  stiff  in  that  queer  way  of  his. 
Quite  right  he  was  too.  I'd  have  been  the  same  myself," 
pulling  up  his  collar  and  stretching  his  neck  in  a  manner 
indicating  exact  knowledge  of  the  natural  sentiments  of  a 
Marquis  when  justly  annoyed.  "What  he  intimated  was 
that  if  them  bills  was  not  paid  with  the  money  that  was 
meant  to  pay  them,  the  money  wouldn't  be  forthcoming  the 
next  time."  Jennings  was  rather  pleased  by  the  word 
"forthcoming"  and  therefore  he  repeated  it  with  emphasis, 
"It  wouldn't  be  forthcoming." 

"That'd  frighten  her,"  was  Andrews'  succinct  observa 
tion. 

"It  did !"  said  Jennings.  "She'd  have  gone  in  hysterics 
if  he  hadn't  kept  her  down.  He's  got  a  way  with  him, 
Coombe  has." 

Andrews  laughed,  a  brief,  dry  laugh. 

"Do  you  know  what  the  child  calls  her  ?"  she  said.  "She 
calls  her  the  Lady  Downstairs.  She's  got  a  sort  of  fancy 
for  her  and  tries  to  get  peeps  at  her  when  we  go  out.  I 
notice  she  always  cranes  her  little  neck  if  we  pass  a  room 
she  might  chance  to  be  in.  It's  her  pretty  clothes  and  her 
laughing  that  does  it.  Children's  drawn  by  bright  colours 
and  noise  that  sounds  merry." 

"It's  my  belief  the  child  doesn't  know  she  is  her 
mother !"  said  Mrs.  Blayne  as  she  opened  an  oven  door 
to  look  at  some  rolls. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  77 

"It's  my  belief  that  if  I  told  her  she  was  she  wouldn't 
know  what  the  word  meant.  It  was  me  she  got  the  name 
from/'  Andrews  still  laughed  as  she  explained.  "I  used 
to  tell  her  about  the  Lady  Downstairs  would  hear  if  she 
made  a  noise,  or  I'd  say  I'd  let  her  have  a  peep  at  the 
Lady  Downstairs  if  she  was  very  good.  I  saw  she  had 
a  kind  of  awe  of  her  though  she  liked  her  so  much,  so  it 
was  a  good  way  of  managing  her.  You  mayn't  believe 
me  but  for  a  good  bit  I  didn't  take  in  that  she  didn't  know 
there  was  such  things  as  mothers  and,  when  I  did  take 
it  in,  I  saw  there  wasn't  any  use  in  trying  to  explain.  She 
wouldn't  have  understood." 

"How  would  you  go  about  to  explain  a  mother,  any 
way?"  suggested  Jennings.  "I'd  have  to  say  that  she  was 
the  person  that  had  the  right  to  slap  your  head  if  you 
didn't  do  what  she  told  you." 

"I'd  have  to  say  that  she  was  the  woman  that  could  keep 
you  slaving  at  kitchen  maid's  work  fifteen  hours  a  day," 
said  Mrs.  Blayne;  "My  mother  was  cook  in  a  big  house 
and  trained  me  under  her." 

"I  never  had  one,"  said  Andrews  stiffly.  The  truth 
was  that  she  had  taken  care  of  eight  infant  brothers  and 
sisters,  while  her  maternal  parent  slept  raucously  under 
the  influence  of  beer  when  she  was  not  quarrelling  with 
her  offspring. 

Jane,  the  housemaid,  had  passed  a  not  uncomfortable 
childhood  in  the  country  and  was  perhaps  of  a  soft  nature. 

"I'd  say  that  a  mother's  the  one  that  you  belong  to  and 
that's  fond  of  you,  even  if  she  does  keep  you  straight,"  she 
put  in. 

"Her  mother  isn't  fond  of  her  and  doesn't  keep  herself 
straight,"  said  Jennings.  "So  that  wouldn't  do." 

"And  she  doesn't  slap  her  head  or  teach  her  to  do  kitchen 
maid's  work,"  put  in  Mrs.  Blayne,  "so  yours  is  no  use, 


78  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Mr.  Jennings,  and  neither  is  mine.  Miss  Andrews'll  have 
to  cook  up  an  explanation  of  her  own  herself  when  she 
finds  she  has  to." 

"She  can  get  it  out  of  a  Drury  Lane  melodrama,"  said 
Jennings,  with  great  humour.  "You'll  have  to  sit  down 
some  night,  Miss  Andrews,  and  say,  'The  time  has  come, 
me  chee-ild,  when  I  must  tell  you  All'." 

In  this  manner  were  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  and  her 
maternal  affections  discussed  below  stairs.  The  interest 
ing  fact  remained  that  to  Robin  the  Lady  Downstairs  was 
merely  a  radiant  and  beautiful  being  who  floated  through 
certain  rooms  laughing  or  chattering  like  a  bird,  and 
always  wearing  pretty  clothes,  which  were  different  each 
time  one  beheld  her.  Sometimes  one  might  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  through  a  door,  or,  if  one  pressed  one's 
face  against  the  window  pane  at  the  right  moment,  she 
might  get  into  her  bright  little  carriage  in  the  street  below 
and,  after  Jennings  had  shut  its  door,  she  might  be  seen 
to  give  a  lovely  flutter  to  her  clothes  as  she  settled  back 
against  the  richly  dark  blue  cushions. 

It  is  a  somewhat  portentous  thing  to  realize  that  a  new 
born  human  creature  can  only  know  what  it  is  taught.  The 
teaching  may  be  conscious  or  unconscious,  intelligent  or 
idiotic,  exquisite  or  brutal.  The  images  presented  by 
those  surrounding  it,  as  its  perceptions  awaken  day  by 
day,  are  those  which  record  themselves  on  its  soul,  its 
brain,  its  physical  being  which  is  its  sole  means  of  express 
ing,  during  physical  life,  all  it  has  learned.  That  which 
automatical!}"  becomes  the  Law  at  the  dawning  of  new 
born  consciousness  remains,  to  its  understanding,  the 
Law  of  Being,  the  Law  of  the  Universe.  To  the  cautious 
of  responsibility  this  at  times  wears  the  aspect  of  an 
awesome  thing,  suggesting,  however  remotely,  that  it  might 
seem  well,  perhaps,  to  remove  the  shoes  from  one's  feet, 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   79 

as  it  were,  and  tread  with  deliberate  and  delicate  consid 
ering  of  one's  steps,  as  do  the  reverently  courteous  even 
on  the  approaching  of  an  unknown  altar. 

This  being  acknowledged  a  scientific,  as  well  as  a  spirit 
ual  truth,  there  remains  no  mystery  in  the  fact  that  Eobin 
at  six  years  old — when  she  watched  the  sparrows  in  the 
Square  Gardens — did  not  know  the  name  of  the  feeling 
which  had  grown  within  her  as  a  result  of  her  pleasure 
in  the  chance  glimpses  of  the  Lady  Downstairs.  It  was 
a  feeling  which  made  her  eager  to  see  her  or  anything 
which  belonged  to  her;  it  made  her  strain  her  child  ears 
to  catch  the  sound  of  her  voice;  it  made  her  long  to  hear 
Andrews  or  the  other  servants  speak  of  her,  and  yet  much 
too  shy  to  dare  to  ask  any  questions.  She  had  found  a 
place  on  the  staircase  leading  to  the  Nursery,  where,  by 
squeezing  against  the  balustrade,  she  could  sometimes  see 
the  Lady  pass  in  and  out  of  her  pink  bedroom.  She 
used  to  sit  on  a  step  and  peer  between  the  railing  with 
beating  heart.  Sometimes,  after  she  had  been  put  to  bed 
for  the  night  and  Andrews  was  safely  entertained  down 
stairs,  Eobin  would  be  awakened  from  her  first  sleep  by 
sounds  in  the  room  below  and  would  creep  out  of  bed  and 
down  to  her  special  step  and,  crouching  in  a  hectic  joy, 
would  see  the  Lady  come  out  with  sparkling  things  in  her 
hair  and  round  her  lovely,  very  bare  white  neck  and  arms, 
all  swathed  in  tints  and  draperies  which  made  her  seem  a 
vision  of  colour  and  light.  She  was  so  radiant  a  thing 
that  often  the  child  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  sound  like 
a  little  sob  of  ecstasy,  and  her  lip  trembled  as  if  she  were 
going  to  cry.  But  she  did  not  know  that  what  she  felt 
was  the  yearning  of  a  thing  called  love — a  quite  simple 
and  natural  common  thing  of  which  she  had  no  reason  for 
having  any  personal  knowledge.  As  she  was  unaware  of 
mothers,  so  she  was  unaware  of  affection,  of  which 


80  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Andrews  would  have  felt  it  to  be  superfluously  sentimental 
to  talk  to  her. 

On  the  very  rare  occasions  when  the  Lady  Downstairs 
appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  Day  Nursery,  Eobin — 
always  having  been  freshly  dressed  in  one  of  her  nicest 
frocks — stood  and  stared  with  immense  startled  eyes  and 
answered  in  a  whisper  the  banal  little  questions  put  to  her. 
The  Lady  appeared  at  such  rare  intervals  and  remained 
poised  upon  the  threshold  like  a  tropic  plumaged  bird  for 
moments  so  brief,  that  there  never  was  time  to  do  more 
than  lose  breath  and  gaze  as  at  a  sudden  vision.  Why  she 
came — when  she  did  come — Eobin  did  not  understand. 
She  evidently  did  not  belong  to  the  small,  dingy  nurseries 
which  grew  shabbier  every  year  as  they  grew  steadily  more 
grimy  under  the  persistent  London  soot  and  fogs. 

Feather  always  held  up  her  draperies  when  she  came. 
She  would  not  have  come  at  all  but  for  the  fact  that  she 
had  once  or  twice  been  asked  if  the  child  was  growing 
pretty,  and  it  would  have  seemed  absurd  to  admit  that 
she  never  saw  her  at  all. 

"I  think  she's  rather  pretty/'  she  said  downstairs. 
"She's  round  and  she  has  a  bright  colour — almost  too 
bright,  and  her  eyes  are  round  too.  She's  either  rather 
stupid  or  she's  shy — and  one's  as  bad  as  the  other.  She's 
a  child  that  stares." 

If,  when  Andrews  had  taken  her  into  the  Gardens,  she 
had  played  with  other  children,  Eobin  would  no  doubt 
have  learned  something  of  the  existence  and  normal 
attitude  of  mothers  through  the  mere  accident  of  childish 
chatter,  but  it  somehow  happened  that  she  never  formed 
relations  with  the  charges  of  other  nurses.  She  took  it  for 
granted  for  some  time  that  this  was  because  Andrews  had 
laid  down  some  mysterious  law.  Andrews  did  not  seem 
to  form  acquaintances  herself.  Sometimes  she  sat  on  a 


THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  81 

bench  and  talked  a  little  to  another  nurse,  but  she  seldom 
sat  twice  with  the  same  person.  It  was  indeed  generally 
her  custom  to  sit  alone,  crocheting  or  sewing,  with  a  rather 
lofty  and  exclusive  air  and  to  call  Eobin  back  to  her  side 
if  she  saw  her  slowly  edging  towards  some  other  child. 

"My  rule  is  to  keep  myself  to  myself,"  she  said  in  the 
kitchen.  "And  to  look  as  if  I  was  the  one  that  would 
turn  up  noses,  if  noses  was  to  be  turned  up.  There's  those 
that  would  snatch  away  their  children  if  I  let  Eobin  begin 
to  make  up  to  them.  Some  wouldn't,  of  course,  but  I'm 
not  going  to  run  risks.  I'm  going  to  save  my  own  pride." 

But  one  morning  when  Eobin  was  watching  her  spar 
rows,  a  nurse,  who  was  an  old  acquaintance,  surprised 
Andrews  by  appearing  in  the  Gardens  with  two  little  girls 
in  her  charge.  They  were  children  of  nine  and  eleven  and 
quite  sufficient  for  themselves,  apart  from  the  fact  that 
they  regarded  Eobin  as  a  baby  and,  therefore,  took  no 
notice  of  her.  They  began  playing  with  skipping  ropes, 
which  left  their  nurse  free  to  engage  in  delighted  conver 
sation  with  Andrews. 

It  was  conversation  so  delightful  that  Eobin  was  for 
gotten,  even  to  the  extent  of  being  allowed  to  follow  her 
sparrows  round  a  clump  of  shrubbery  and,  therefore,  out 
of  Andrews'  sight,  though  she  was  only  a  few  yards  away. 
The  sparrows  this  morning  were  quarrelsome  and  suddenly 
engaged  in  a  fight,  pecking  each  other  furiously,  beating 
their  wings  and  uttering  shrill,  protesting  chipperings. 
Eobin  did  not  quite  understand  what  they  were  doing  and 
stood  watching  them  with  spellbound  interest. 

It  was  while  she  watched  them  that  she  heard  footsteps 
on  the  gravel  walk  which  stopped  near  her  and  made  her 
look  up  to  see  who  was  at  her  side.  A  big  boy  in  Highland 
kilts  and  bonnet  and  sporan  was  standing  by  her,  and  she 
found  herself  staring  into  a  pair  of  handsome  deep  blue 


82  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

eyes,  blue  like  the  waters  of  a  hillside  tarn.  They  were 
wide,  glowing,  friendly  eyes  and  none  like  them  had  ever 
looked  into  hers  before.  He  seemed  to  her  to  be  a  very 
big  boy  indeed  and,  in  fact,  he  was  unusually  tall  and 
broad  for  his  age,  but  he  was  only  eight  years  old  and  a 
simple  enough  child  pagan.  Robin's  heart  began  to  beat 
as  it  did  when  she  watched  the  Lady  Downstairs,  but  there 
was  something  different  in  the  beating.  It  was  something 
which  made  her  red  mouth  spread  and  curve  itself  into  a 
smile  which  showed  all  her  small  teeth. 

So  they  stood  and  stared  at  each  other  and  for  some 
etrange,  strange  reason — created,  perhaps,  with  the  creat 
ing  of  Man  and  still  hidden  among  the  deep  secrets  of  the 
Universe — they  were  drawn  to  each  other — wanted  each 
other — knew  each  other.  Their  advances  were,  of  course, 
of  the  most  primitive — as  primitive  and  as  much  a  matter 
of  instinct  as  the  nosing  and  sniffing  of  young  animals. 
He  spread  and  curved  his  red  mouth  and  showed  the 
healthy  whiteness  of  his  own  handsome  teeth  as  she  had 
shown  her  smaller  ones.  Then  he  began  to  run  and  prance 
round  in  a  circle,  capering  like  a  Shetland  pony  to  exhibit 
at  once  his  friendliness  and  his  prowess.  He  tossed  his 
curled  head  and  laughed  to  make  her  laugh  also,  and  she 
not  only  laughed  but  clapped  her  hands.  He  was  more 
beautiful  than  anything  she  had  ever  seen  before  in  her 
life,  and  he  was  plainly  trying  to  please  her.  No  child 
creature  had  ever  done  anything  like  it  before,  because  no 
child  creature  had  ever  been  allowed  by  Andrews  to  make 
friends  with  her.  He,  on  his  part,  was  only  doing  what 
any  other  little  boy  animal  would  have  done — expressing 
his  child  masculinity  by  "showing  off'*  before  a  little 
female.  But  to  this  little  female  it  had  never  happened 
before. 

It  was  all  beautifully  elemental.    As  does  not  too  often 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  83 

happen,  two  eouls  as  well  as  two  bodies  were  drawn  towards 
each  other  by  the  Magnet  of  Being.  When  he  had  exhib 
ited  himself  for  a  minute  or  two  he  came  back  to  her, 
breathing  fast  and  glowing. 

"My  pony  in  Scotland  does  that.  His  name  is  Chieftain. 
He  is  a  Shetland  pony  and  he  is  only  that  high/'  he 
measured  forty  inches  from  the  ground.  "I'm  called 
Donal.  What  are  you  called?" 

"Kobin,"  she  answered,  her  lips  and  voice  trembling 
with  joy.  He  was  so  beautiful.  His  hair  was  bright  and 
curly.  His  broad  forehead  was  clear  white  where  he  had 
pushed  back  his  bonnet  with  the  eagle  feather  standing 
upright  on  it.  His  strong  legs  and  knees  were  white 
between  his  tartan  kilt  and  his  rolled  back  stockings. 
The  clasps  which  held  his  feather  and  the  plaid  over  his 
shoulder  were  set  with  fine  stones  in  rich  silver.  She  did 
not  know  that  he  was  perfectly  equipped  as  a  little  High 
land  chieftain,  the  head  of  his  clan,  should  be. 

They  began  to  play  together,  and  the  unknown  Fates, 
which  do  their  work  as  they  choose,  so  wrought  on  this 
occasion  as  to  cause  Andrews'  friend  to  set  forth  upon  a 
journey  through  a  story  so  exciting  in  its  nature  that  its 
hearer  was  held  spellbound  and  oblivious  to  her  surround 
ings  themselves.  Once,  it  is  true,  she  rose  as  in  a  dream 
and  walked  round  the  group  of  shrubs,  but  the  Fates  had 
arranged  for  that  moment  also.  Kobin  was  alone  and  was 
busily  playing  with  some  leaves  she  had  plucked  and  laid 
on  the  seat  of  a  bench  for  some  mysterious  reason.  She 
looked  good  for  an  hour's  safe  occupation,  and  Andrews 
returned  to  her  friend's  detailed  and  intimate  version  of 
a  great  country  house  scandal,  of  which  the  papers  were 
full  because  it  had  ended  in  the  divorce  court. 

Donal  had,  at  that  special  moment,  gone  to  pick  some 
of  the  biggest  leaves  from  the  lilac  bush  of  which  the 


84  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Gardens  contained  numerous  sooty  specimens.  The  leaves 
Robin  was  playing  with  were  some  he  had  plucked  first 
to  show  her  a  wonderful  thing.  If  you  laid  a  leaf  flat  on 
the  seat  of  the  bench  and  were  fortunate  enough  to  possess 
a  large  pin  you  could  prick  beautiful  patterns  on  the  leaf's 
greenness — dots  and  circles,  and  borders  and  tiny  tri 
angles  of  a  most  decorative  order.  Neither  Donal  nor 
Robin  had  a  pin  but  Donal  had,  in  his  rolled  down  stock 
ing,  a  little  dirk  the  point  of  which  could  apparently  be 
used  for  any  interesting  purpose.  It  was  really  he  who 
did  the  decoration,  but  Eobin  leaned  against  the  bench  and 
looked  on  enthralled.  She  had  never  been  happy  before 
in  the  entire  course  of  her  brief  existence.  She  had  not 
known  or  expected  any  conditions  other  than  those  she 
was  familiar  with — the  conditions  of  being  fed  and 
clothed,  kept  clean  and  exercised,  but  totally  unloved  and 
unentertained.  She  did  not  even  know  that  this  nearness 
to  another  human  creature,  this  pleasure  in  the  mere  warm 
closeness  of  a  friendly  body,  the  exchange  of  companion 
able  looks,  which  were  like  flashes  of  sunlight,  the  mutual 
outbreaks  of  child  laughter  and  pleasure  were  happiness. 
To  her,  what  she  felt,  the  glow  and  delight  of  it,  had  no 
name  but  she  wanted  it  to  go  on  and  on,  never  to  be  put 
an  end  to  by  Andrews  or  anyone  else. 

The  boy  Donal  was  not  so  unconscious.  He  had  been 
happy  all  his  life.  What  he  felt  was  that  he  had  liked 
this  little  girl  the  minute  he  saw  her.  She  was  pretty, 
though  he  thought  her  immensely  younger  than  himself, 
and,  when  she  had  looked  up  at  him  with  her  round, 
asking  eyes,  he  had  wanted  to  talk  to  her  and  make  friends. 
He  had  not  played  much  with  boys  and  he  had  no  haughty 
objection  to  girls  who  liked  him.  This  one  did,  he  saw 
at  once. 

Through  what  means  children  so  quickly  convey  to  each 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  85 

other — while  seeming  scarcely  to  do  more  than  play — the 
entire  history  of  their  lives  and  surroundings,  is  a  sort 
of  occult  secret.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  prolonged  conver 
sation.  Perhaps  images  created  by  the  briefest  of  un 
adorned  statements  produce  on  the  unwritten  tablets  of 
the  child  mind  immediate  and  complete  impressions.  Safe 
as  the  locked  garden  was,  Andrews  cannot  have  forgotten 
her  charge  for  any  very  great  length  of  time  and  yet  before 
Donal,  hearing  his  attendant's  voice  from  her  corner, 
left  Robin  to  join  her  and  be  taken  home,  the  two  children 
knew  each  other  intimately.  Eobin  knew  that  DonaPs 
home  was  in  Scotland — where  there  are  hills  and  moors 
with  stags  on  them.  He  lived  there  with  "Mother"  and 
he  had  been  brought  to  London  for  a  visit.  The  person 
he  called  "Mother"  was  a  woman  who  took  care  of  him  and 
he  spoke  of  her  quite  often.  Robin  did  not  think  she  was 
like  Andrews,  though  she  did  not  in  the  least  know  why. 
On  his  part  Donal  knew  about  the  nurseries  and  the  spar 
rows  who  hopped  about  on  the  slates  of  the  houses  opposite. 
Robin  did  not  describe  the  nurseries  to  him,  but  Donal 
knew  that  they  were  ugly  and  that  there  were  no  toys  in 
them  and  nothing  to  do.  Also,  in  some  mystic  fashion, 
he  realized  that  Andrews  would  not  let  Robin  play  with 
him  if  she  saw  them  together,  and  that,  therefore,  they 
must  make  the  most  of  their  time.  Full  of  their  joy  in 
each  other,  they  actually  embarked  upon  an  ingenious 
infant  intrigue,  which  involved  their  trying  to  meet 
behind  the  shrubs  if  they  were  brought  to  the  Gardens  the 
next  day.  Donal  was  sure  he  could  come  because  his 
nurse  always  did  what  he  asked  of  her.  He  was  so  big 
now  that  she  was  not  a  real  nurse,  but  she  had  been  his 
nurse  when  he  was  quite  little  and  "Mother*'  liked  her 
to  travel  with  them.  He  had  a  tutor  but  he  had  stayed 
behind  in  Scotland  at  Braemarnie,  which  was  their  house. 


86  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Donal  would  come  tomorrow  and  he  would  look  for  Eobin 
and  when  she  saw  him  she  must  get  away  from  Andrews 
and  they  would  play  together  again. 

"I  will  bring  one  of  my  picture  books/'  he  said  grandly. 
"Can  you  read  at  all  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Kobin  adoring  him.  "What  are  picture 
books?" 

"Haven't  you  any?"  he  blurted  out. 

"No,"  said  Eobin.  She  looked  at  the  gravel  walk,  re 
flecting  a  moment  thoughtfully  on  the  Day  Nursery  and 
the  Night  Nursery.  Then  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  glow 
ing  blueness  of  his  and  said  quite  simply,  "I  haven't  any 
thing." 

He  suddenly  remembered  things  his  Mother  had  told 
him  about  poor  people.  Perhaps  she  was  poor.  Could 
she  be  poor  when  her  frock  and  hat  and  coat  were  so 
pretty  ?  It  was  not  polite  to  ask.  But  the  thought  made 
him  love  her  more.  He  felt  something  warm  rush  all 
over  his  body.  The  truth,  if  he  had  been  old  enough  to  be 
aware  of  it,  was  that  the  entire  simpleness  of  her  accept 
ance  of  things  as  they  were,  and  a  something  which  was  un 
consciousness  of  any  cause  for  complaint,  moved  his  child 
masculinity  enormously.  His  old  nurse's  voice  came  from 
her  corner  again. 

"I  must  go  to  Nanny,"  he  said,  feeling  somehow  as  if  he 
had  been  running  fast.  "I'll  come  tomorrow  and  bring 
two  picture  books." 

He  was  a  loving,  warm  blooded  child  human  thing,  and 
the  expression  of  affection  was,  to  him,  a  familiar  natural 
impulse.  He  put  his  strong  little  eight-year-old  arms 
round  her  and  kissed  her  full  on  her  mouth,  as  he 
embraced  her  with  all  his  strength.  He  kissed  her  twice. 

It  was  the  first  time  for  Eobin.  Andrews  did  not  kiss. 
There  was  no  one  else.  It  was  the  first  time,  and  Nature 


had  also  made  her  a  loving,  warm  blooded,  human  thing. 
How  beautiful  he  was — how  big — how  strong  his  arms 
were — and  how  soft  and  warm  his  mouth  felt.  She  stood 
and  gazed  at  him  with  wide  asking  eyes  and  laughed  a 
little.  She  had  no  words  because  she  did  not  know  what 
had  happened. 

"Don't  you  like  to  be  kissed?"  said  Donal,  uncertain 
because  she  looked  so  startled  and  had  not  kissed  him  back. 

"Kissed,"  she  repeated,  with  a  small,  caught  breath, 
"ye-es."  She  knew  now  what  it  was.  It  was  being  kissed. 
She  drew  nearer  at  once  and  lifted  up  her  face  as  sweetly 
and  gladly,  as  a  flower  lifts  itself  to  the  sun.  "Kiss  me 
again,"  she  said  quite  eagerly.  As  ingenuously  and  heart 
ily  as  before,  he  kissed  her  again  and,  this  time,  she 
kissed  too.  When  he  ran  quickly  away,  she  stood  looking 
after  him  with  smiling,  trembling  lips,  uplifted,  joyful — • 
wondering  and  amazed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN"  she  went  back  to  Andrews  she  carried  the 
pricked  leaves  with  her.  She  could  not  have  left 
them  behind.  From  what  source  she  had  drawn 
a  characterizing  passionate,  though  silent,  strength  of 
mind  and  body,  it  would  be  difficult  to  explain.  Her  mind 
and  her  emotions  had  been  left  utterly  unfed,  but  they 
were  not  of  the  inert  order  which  scarcely  needs  feeding. 
Her  feeling  for  the  sparrows  had  held  more  than  she  could 
have  expressed;  her  secret  adoration  of  the  "Lady  Down 
stairs"  was  an  intense  thing.  Her  immediate  surrender 
to  the  desire  in  the  first  pair  of  human  eyes — child  eyes 
though  they  were — which  had  ever  called  to  her  being  for 
response,  was  simple  and  undiluted  rapture.  She  had 
passed  over  her  little  soul  without  a  moment's  delay  and 
without  any  knowledge  of  the  giving.  It  had  flown  from 
her  as  a  bird  might  fly  from  darkness  into  the  sun. 
Eight-year-old  Donal  was  the  sun. 

No  special  tendency  to  innate  duplicity  was  denoted  by 
the  fact  that  she  had  acquired,  through  her  observation  of 
Andrews,  Jennings,  Jane  and  Mrs.  Blayne,  the  knowledge 
that  there  were  things  it  was  best  not  to  let  other  people 
know.  You  were  careful  about  them.  From  the  occult 
communications  between  herself  and  Donal,  which  had 
resulted  in  their  intrigue,  there  had  of  course  evolved  a 
realizing  sense  of  the  value  of  discretion.  She  did  not  let 
Andrews  see  the  decorated  leaves,  but  put  them  into  a 
small  pocket  in  her  coat.  Her  Machiavellian  intention 
was  to  slip  them  out  when  she  was  taken  up  to  the  Nursery. 

88 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  89 

Andrews  was  always  in  a  hurry  to  go  downstairs  to  her 
lunch  and  she  would  be  left  alone  and  could  find  a  place 
where  she  could  hide  them. 

Andrews'  friend  started  when  Eobin  drew  near  to  them. 
The  child's  cheeks  and  lips  were  the  colour  of  Jacqueminot 
rose  petals.  Her  eyes  glowed  with  actual  rapture. 

"My  word !  That's  a  beauty  if  I  ever  saw  one,"  said  the 
woman.  "First  sight  makes  you  jump.  My  word  V 

Eobin,  however,  did  not  know  what  she  was  talking 
about  and  in  fact  scarcely  heard  her.  She  was  thinking 
of  Donal.  She  thought  of  him  as  she  was  taken  home,  and 
she  did  not  cease  thinking  of  him  during  the  whole  rest 
of  the  day  and  far  into  the  night.  When  Andrews  left 
her,  she  found  a  place  to  hide  the  pricked  leaves  and  before 
she  put  them  away  she  did  what  Donal  had  done  to  her — 
she  kissed  them.  She  kissed  them  several  times  because 
they  were  Donal's  leaves  and  he  had  made  the  stars  and 
lines  on  them.  It  was  almost  like  kissing  Donal  but  not 
quite  so  beautiful. 

After  she  was  put  to  bed  at  night  and  Andrews  left  her 
she  lay  awake  for  a  long  time.  She  did  not  want  to  go  to 
sleep  because  everything  seemed  so  warm  and  wonderful 
and  she  could  think  and  think  and  think.  What  she 
thought  about  was  Donal's  face,  his  delightful  eyes,  his 
white  forehead  with  curly  hair  pushed  back  with  his  High 
land  bonnet.  His  plaid  swung  about  when  he  ran  and 
jumped.  When  he  held  her  tight  the  buttons  of  his  jacket 
hurt  her  a  little  because  they  pressed  against  her  body. 
What  was  "Mother"  like  ?  Did  he  kiss  her  ?  What  pretty 
stones  there  were  in  his  clasps  and  buckles !  How  nice  it 
was  to  hear  him  laugh  and  how  fond  he  was  of  laughing. 
Donal !  Donal !  Donal !  He  liked  to  play  with  her  though 
she  was  a  girl  and  so  little.  He  would  play  with  her  to 
morrow.  His  cheeks  were  bright  pink,  his  hair  was  bright, 


90  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

his  eyes  were  bright.  He  was  all  bright.  She  tried  to  see 
into  the  blueness  of  his  eyes  again  as  it  seemed  when  they 
looked  at  each  other  close  to.  As  she  began  to  see  the  clear 
colour  she  fell  asleep. 

The  power  which  had  on  the  first  morning  guided  Robin 
to  the  seclusion  behind  the  clump  of  shrubs  and  had  pro 
vided  Andrews  with  an  enthralling  companion,  extended, 
the  next  day,  an  even  more  beneficent  and  complete  pro 
tection.  Andrews  was  smitten  with  a  cold  so  alarming  as 
to  confine  her  to  her  bed.  Having  no  intention  of  running 
any  risks,  whatsoever,  she  promptly  sent  for  a  younger 
sister  who,  temporarily  being  "out  of  place",  came  into  the 
house  as  substitute.  She  was  a  pretty  young  woman  who 
assumed  no  special  responsibilities  and  was  fond  of  read 
ing  novels. 

"She's  been  trained  to  be  no  trouble,  Anne.  She'll 
amuse  herself  without  bothering  you  as  long  as  you  keep 
her  out/'  Andrews  said  of  Robin. 

Anne  took  "Lady  Audley's  Secret"  with  her  to  the 
Gardens  and,  having  led  her  charge  to  a  shady  and  comfort 
able  seat  which  exactly  suited  her,  she  settled  herself  for 
a  pleasant  morning. 

"Now,  you  can  play  while  I  read,"  she  said  to  Robin. 

As  they  had  entered  the  Gardens  they  had  passed,  not 
far  from  the  gate,  a  bench  on  which  sat  a  highly  respect 
able  looking  woman  who  was  hemming  a  delicate  bit  of 
cambric,  and  evidently  in  charge  of  two  picture  books 
which  lay  on  the  seat  beside  her.  A  fine  boy  in  Highland 
kilts  was  playing  a  few  yards  away.  Robin  felt  something 
like  a  warm  flood  rush  over  her  and  her  joy  was  so  great 
and  exquisite  that  she  wondered  if  Anne  felt  her  hand 
trembling.  Anne  did  not  because  she  was  looking  at  a 
lady  getting  into  a  carriage  across  the  street. 

The  marvel   of   that   early    summer   morning   in   the 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  91 

gardens  of  a  splendid  but  dingy  London  square  was  not 
a  thing  for  which  human  words  could  find  expression.  It 
was  not  an  earthly  thing,  or,  at  least,  not  a  thing  belonging 
to  an  earth  grown  old.  A  child  Adam  and  Eve  might  have 
known  something  like  it  in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  It  was 
as  clear  and  simple  as  spring  water  and  as  warm  as  the  sun. 

Anne's  permission  to  "play"  once  given,  Robin  found 
her  way  behind  the  group  of  lilacs  and  snowballs.  Donal 
would  come,  not  only  because  he  was  so  big  that  Nanny 
would  let  him  do  what  he  wanted  to  do,  but  because  he 
could  do  everything  and  anything  in  the  world.  Donal! 
Donal !  Her  heart  was  a  mere  baby's  heart  but  it  beat 
as  if  she  were  seventeen — beat  with  pure  rapture.  He  was 
all  bright  and  he  would  laugh  and  laugh. 

The  coming  was  easy  enough  for  Donal.  He  had  told 
his  mother  and  Nanny  rejoicingly  about  the  little  girl  he 
had  made  friends  with  and  who  had  no  picture  books. 
But  he  did  not  come  straight  to  her.  He  took  his  picture 
books  under  his  arm,  and  showing  all  his  white  teeth  in 
a  joyous  grin,  set  out  to  begin  their  play  properly  with  a 
surprise.  He  did  not  let  her  see  him  coming  but  "stalked" 
her  behind  the  trees  and  bushes  until  he  found  where  she 
was  waiting,  and  then  thrust  his  face  between  the  branches 
of  a  tall  shrub  near  her  and  laughed  the  outright  laugh 
she  loved.  And  when  she  turned  she  was  looking  straight 
into  the  clear  blue  she  had  tried  to  see  when  she  fell  asleep. 

"Donal !  Donal !"  she  cried  like  a  little  bird  with  but 
one  note. 

The  lilac  and  the  snowball  were  in  blossom  and  there 
was  a  big  hawthorn  tree  which  smelt  sweet  and  sweet. 
They  could  not  see  the  drift  of  smuts  on  the  blossoms,  they 
only  smelled  the  sweetness  and  sat  under  the  hawthorn  and 
sniffed  and  sniffed.  The  sun  was  deliciously  warm  and  a 
piano  organ  was  playing  beautifully  not  far  away.  They 


92  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBB 

sat  close  to  each  other,  so  close  that  the  picture  book  could 
lie  open  on  both  pairs  of  knees  and  the  warmth  of  each 
young  body  penetrated  the  softness  of  the  other.  Some 
times  Donal  threw  an  arm  around  her  as  she  bent  over  the 
pages.  Love  and  caresses  were  not  amazements  to  him; 
he  accepted  them  as  parts  of  the  normal  joy  of  life.  To 
Robin  they  were  absolute  wonder.  The  pictures  were 
delight  and  amazement  in  one.  Donal  knew  all  about 
them  and  told  her  stories.  She  felt  that  such  splendour 
could  have  emanated  only  from  him.  It  could  not  occur 
to  her  that  he  had  not  invented  them  and  made  the 
pictures.  He  showed  her  Eobinson  Crusoe  and  Eobin 
Hood.  The  scent  of  the  hawthorn  and  lilac  intoxicated 
them  and  they  laughed  tremendously  because  Robin 
Hood's  name  was  like  Robin's  own  and  he  was  a  man  and 
she  was  a  girl.  They  could  scarcely  stop  laughing  and 
Donal  rolled  over  and  over  on  the  grass,  half  from  un 
conquerable  high  spirits  and  half  to  make  Robin  laugh 
still  more. 

He  had  some  beautiful  coloured  glass  marbles  in  his 
pocket  and  he  showed  her  how  to  play  with  them,  and  gave 
her  two  of  the  prettiest.  He  could  shoot  them  over  the 
ground  in  a  way  to  thrill  the  beholder.  He  could  hop  on 
one  leg  as  far  as  he  liked.  He  could  read  out  of  books. 

"Do  you  like  me  ?"  he  said  once  in  a  pause  between  dis 
plays  of  his  prowess. 

Robin  was  kneeling  upon  the  grass  watching  him  and 
she  clasped  her  little  hands  as  if  she  were  uttering  a  prayer. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  she  yearned.     "Yes!     Yes!" 

"I  like  you,"  he  answered;  "I  told  my  mother  all  about 
you." 

He  came  to  her  and  knelt  by  her  side. 

"Have  you  a  mother  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  shaking  her  head. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  93 

"Do  you  live  with  your  aunt  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  live  with  anybody." 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"Isn't  there  any  lady  in  your  house  ?"  he  put  it  to  her. 
She  brightened  a  little,  relieved  to  think  she  had  something 
to  tell  him. 

"There's  the  Lady  Downstairs,"  she  said.  "She's  so 
pretty — so  pretty." 

"Is  she "  he  stopped  and  shook  his  head.  "She 

couldn't  be  your  mother,"  he  corrected  himself.  "You'd 
know  about  her" 

"She  wears  pretty  clothes.  Sometimes  they  float  about 
and  sparkle  and  she  wears  little  crowns  on  her  head — or 
flowers.  She  laughs,"  Eobin  described  eagerly.  "A  great 
many  people  come  to  see  her.  They  all  laugh.  Some 
times  they  sing.  I  lie  in  bed  and  listen." 

"Does  she  ever  come  upstairs  to  the  Nursery  ?"  inquired 
Donal  with  a  somewhat  reflective  air. 

"Yes.  She  comes  and  stands  near  the  door  and  says,  cls 
she  quite  well,  Andrews  ?'  She  does  not  laugh  then.  She 
— she  looks  at  me." 

She  stopped  there,  feeling  suddenly  that  she  wished  very 
much  that  she  had  more  to  tell.  What  she  was  saying  was 
evidently  not  very  satisfactory.  He  seemed  to  expect 
more — and  she  had  no  more  to  give.  A  sense  of  emptiness 
crept  upon  her  and  for  no  reason  she  understood  there 
was  a  little  click  in  her  throat. 

"Does  she  only  stand  near  the  door?"  he  suggested,  as 
one  putting  the  situation  to  a  sort  of  crucial  test.  "Does 
she  never  sit  on  a  big  chair  and  take  you  on  her  knee  ?" 

"No,  no,"  in  a  dropped  voice.  "She  will  not  sit  down. 
She  says  the  chairs  are  grubby." 

"Doesn't  she  love  you  at  all  ?"  persisted  Donal.  "Doesn't 
she  kiss  you  ?" 


94  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

There  was  a  thing  she  had  known  for  what  seemed  to 
her  a  long  time — God  knows  in  what  mysterious  fashion 
she  had  learned  it,  but  learned  it  well  she  had.  That  no 
human  being  but  herself  was  aware  of  her  knowledge  was 
inevitable.  To  whom  could  she  have  told  it?  But  Donal 
— Donal  wanted  to  know  all  about  her.  The  little  click 
made  itself  felt  in  her  throat  again. 

"She — she  doesn't  like  me!"  Her  dropped  voice  was 
the  whisper  of  one  humbled  to  the  dust  by  confession, 
"She — doesn't  like  me!"  And  the  click  became  another 
thing  which  made  her  put  up  her  arm  over  her  eyes — her 
round,  troubled  child  eyes,  which,  as  she  had  looked  into 
Donal's,  had  widened  with  sudden,  bewildered  tears. 

Donal  flung  his  arms  round  her  and  squeezed  his 
buttons  into  her  tender  chest.  He  hugged  her  close;  he 
kissed  her ;  there  was  a  choking  in  his  throat.  He  was  hot 
all  over. 

"She  does  like  you.  She  must  like  you.  I'll  make 
her !"  he  cried  passionately.  "She's  not  your  mother.  If 
she  was,  she'd  love  you !  She'd  love  you !" 

"Do  Mothers  1-love  you?"  the  small  voice  asked  with  a 
half  sob.  "What's — what's  love  you  ?"  It  was  not  vulgar 
curiosity.  She  only  wanted  to  find  out. 

He  loosed  his  embrace,  sitting  back  on  his  heels  to  stare. 

"Don't  you  know?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  soft  meekness. 

"N-no,w  she  answered. 

Big  boys  like  himself  did  not  usually  play  with  such 
little  girls.  But  something  had  drawn  him  to  her  at  their 
first  moment  of  encounter.  She  wasn't  like  any  other 
little  girls.  He  felt  it  all  the  time  and  that  was  part  of 
the  thing  which  drew  him.  He  was  not,  of  course,  aware 
that  the  male  thrill  at  being  regarded  as  one  who  is  a  god 
had  its  power  over  the  emotions.  She  wasn't  making  silly 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   95 

fun  and  pretending.  She  really  didn't  know — because 
she  was  different. 

"It's  liking  very  much.  It's  more,"  he  explained.  "My 
mother  loves  me.  I — I  love  you !"  stoutly.  "Yes,  I  love 
you.  That's  why  I  kissed  you  when  you  cried." 

She  was  so  uplifted,  so  overwhelmed  with  adoring  grat 
itude  that  as  she  knelt  on  the  grass  she  worshipped  him. 

"I  love  you"  she  answered  him.  "I  love  you — love 
you !"  And  she  looked  at  him  with  such  actual  prayerful- 
ness  that  he  caught  at  her  and,  with  manly  promptness, 
kissed  her  again — this  being  mere  Nature. 

Because  he  was  eight  years  old  and  she  was  six  her  tears 
flashed  away  and  they  both  laughed  joyously  as  they  sat 
down  on  the  grass  again  to  talk  it  over. 

He  told  her  all  the  pleasant  things  he  knew  about 
Mothers.  The  world  was  full  of  them  it  seemed — full. 
You  belong  to  them  from  the  time  you  were  a  baby.  He 
had  not  known  many  personally  because  he  had  always 
lived  at  Braemarnie,  which  was  in  the  country  in  Scotland. 
There  were  no  houses  near  his  home.  You  had  to  drive 
miles  and  miles  before  you  came  to  a  house  or  a  castle. 
He  had  not  seen  much  of  other  children  except  a  few  who 
lived  at  the  Manse  and  belonged  to  the  minister.  Children 
had  fathers  as  well  as  mothers.  Fathers  did  not  love  you 
or  take  care  of  you  quite  as  much  as  Mothers — because 
they  were  men.  But  they  loved  you  too.  His  own  father 
had  died  when  he  was  a  baby.  His  mother  loved  him  as 
much  as  he  loved  her.  She  was  beautiful  but — it  seemed 
to  reveal  itself — not  like  the  Lady  Downstairs.  She  did 
not  laugh  very  much,  though  she  laughed  when  they  played 
together.  He  was  too  big  now  to  sit  on  her  knee,  but 
squeezed  into  the  big  chair  beside  her  when  she  read  or 
told  him  stories.  He  always  did  what  his  mother  told  him. 
She  knew  everything  in  the  world  and  so  knew  what  he 


96  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

ought  to  do.  Even  when  he  was  a  big  man  he  should  do 
what  his  mother  told  him. 

Robin  listened  to  every  word  with  enraptured  eyes  and 
bated  breath.  This  was  the  story  of  Love  and  Life  and  it 
was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  heard  it.  It  was  as  much 
a  revelation  as  the  Kiss.  She  had  spent  her  days  in  the 
grimy  Nursery  and  her  one  close  intimate  had  been  a  bony 
woman  who  had  taught  her  not  to  cry,  employing  the 
practical  method  of  terrifying  her  into  silence  by  pinching 
her — knowing  it  was  quite  safe  to  do  it.  It  had  not  been 
necessary  to  do  it  often.  She  had  seen  people  on  the 
streets,  but  she  had  only  seen  them  in  passing  by.  She 
had  not  watched  them  as  she  had  watched  the  sparrows. 
When  she  was  taken  down  for  a  few  minutes  into  the  base 
ment,  she  vaguely  knew  that  she  was  in  the  way  and  that 
Mrs.  Blayne's  and  Andrews'  and  Jennings'  low  voices  and 
occasional  sidelong  look  meant  that  they  were  talking 
about  her  and  did  not  want  her  to  hear. 

"I  have  no  mother  and  no  father,"  she  explained  quite 
simply  to  Donal.  "No  one  kisses  me." 

"No  one !"  Donal  said,  feeling  curious.  "Has  no  one  ever 
kissed  you  but  me?" 

"No,"  she  answered. 

Donal  laughed — because  children  always  laugh  when 
they  do  not  know  what  else  to  do. 

"Was  that  why  you  looked  as  if  you  were  frightened 
when  I  said  good-bye  to  you  yesterday?" 

"I-I  didn't  know,"  said  Eobin,  laughing  a  little  too — 
but  not  very  much,  "I  wasn't  frightened.  I  liked  you." 

"I'll  kiss  you  as  often  as  you  want  me  to,"  he  volunteered 
nobly.  "I'm  used  to  it — because  of  my  mother.  I'll  kiss 
you  again  now."  And  he  did  it  quite  without  embarrass 
ment.  It  was  a  sort  of  manly  gratuity. 

Once  Anne,  with  her  book  in  her  hand,  came  round  the 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE   97 

shrubs  to  see  how  her  charge  was  employing  herself,  and 
seeing  her  looking  at  pictures  with  a  handsomely  dressed 
companion,  she  returned  to  "Lady  Audley's  Secret"  feel 
ing  entirely  safe. 

The  lilac  and  the  hawthorn  tree  continued  to  breathe 
forth  warmed  scents  of  paradise  in  the  sunshine,  the  piano 
organ  went  on  playing,  sometimes  nearer,  sometimes 
farther  away,  but  evidently  finding  the  neighbourhood  a 
desirable  one.  Sometimes  the  children  laughed  at  each 
other,  sometimes  at  pictures  Donal  showed,  or  stories 
he  told,  or  at  his  own  extreme  wit.  The  boundaries  were 
removed  from  Bobin's  world.  She  began  to  understand 
that  there  was  another  larger  one  containing  wonderful 
and  delightful  things  she  had  known  nothing  about. 
Donal  was  revealing  it  to  her  in  everything  he  said  even 
when  he  was  not  aware  that  he  was  telling  her  anything. 
When  Eve  was  formed  from  the  rib  of  Adam  the  informa 
tion  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  give  her  regarding  her 
surroundings  must  have  filled  her  with  enthralling  interest 
and  a  reverence  which  adored.  The  planted  enclosure 
which  was  the  central  feature  of  the  soot  sprinkled,  stately 
London  Square  was  as  the  Garden  of  Eden. 


The    Garden    of    Eden    it    remained    for    two    weeks. 

Andrews'  cold  was  serious  enough  to  require  a  doctor 
and  her  sister  Anne  continued  to  perform  their  duties.  The 
weather  was  exceptionally  fine  and,  being  a  vain  young 
woman,  she  liked  to  dress  Eobin  in  her  pretty  clothes  and 
take  her  out  because  she  was  a  beauty  and  attracted  atten 
tion  to  her  nurse  as  well  as  to  herself.  Mornings  spent 
under  the  trees  reading  were  entirely  satisfactory.  Each 
morning  the  children  played  together  and  each  night 


98  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Eobin  lay  awake  and  lived  again  the  delights  of  the  past 
hours.  Each  day  she  learned  more  wonders  and  her  young 
mind  and  soul  were  fed.  There  began  to  stir  in  her  brain 
new  thoughts  and  the  beginning  of  questioning.  Scotland, 
Braemarnie,  Donal's  mother,  even  the  Manse  and  the 
children  in  it,  combined  to  form  a  world  of  enchantment. 
There  were  hills  with  stags  living  in  them,  there  were 
moors  with  purple  heather  and  yellow  broom  and  gorse; 
birds  built  their  nests  under  the  bushes  and  Donal's  pony 
knew  exactly  where  to  step  even  in  the  roughest  places. 
There  were  gardens  with  fruit  trees  and  flowers  in  them 
at  Braemarnie,  and  there  was  a  big  garden  at  the  Manse. 
There  were  two  boys  and  two  girls  at  the  Manse  and  they 
had  a  father  and  a  mother.  These  things  were  enough 
for  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  to  form  themselves 
around.  The  centre  of  the  whole  Universe  was  Donal 
with  his  strength  and  his  laugh  and  his  eyes  which  were 
so  alive  and  glowing  that  she  seemed  always  to  see  them. 
She  knew  nothing  about  the  thing  which  was  their  some 
how — not-to-be-denied  allure.  They  were  asking  eyes — 
and  eyes  which  gave.  The  boy  was  in  truth  a  splendid 
creature.  His  body  and  beauty  were  perfect  life  and  joy 
ous  perfect  living.  His  eyes  asked  other  eyes  for  every 
thing.  "Tell  me  more,"  they  said.  "Tell  me  more !  Like  me !, 
Answer  me!  Let  us  give  each  other  everything  in  the 
world/*  He  had  always  been  well,  he  had  always  been 
happy,  he  had  always  been  praised  and  loved.  He  had 
known  no  other  things. 

During  the  first  week  in  which  the  two  children  played 
together,  his  mother,  whose  intense  desire  it  was  to  under 
stand  him,  observed  in  him  a  certain  absorption  of  mood 
when  he  was  not  talking  or  amusing  himself  actively.  He 
began  to  fall  into  a  habit  of  standing  at  the  windows,  often 
with  his  chin  in  his  hand,  looking  out  as  if  he  were  so  full 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  99 

of  thought  that  he  saw  nothing.  It  was  not  an  old  habit, 
it  was  a  new  one. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Donal?"  she  asked  one 
afternoon. 

He  seemed  to  awaken,  as  it  were,  when  he  heard  her. 
He  turned  about  with  his  alluring  smile. 

"I  am  thinking  it  is  funny/'  he  said.  "It  is  funny  that 
I  should  like  such  a  little  girl  such  a  lot.  She  is  years 
and  years  younger  than  I  am.  But  I  like  her  so.  It  is 
such  fun  to  tell  her  things."  He  marched  over  to  his 
mother's  writing  table  and  leaned  against  it.  What  his 
mother  saw  was  that  he  had  an  impassioned  desire  to  talk 
about  this  child.  She  felt  it  was  a  desire  even  a  trifle 
abnormal  in  its  eagerness. 

"She  has  such  a  queer  house,  I  think,"  he  explained. 
"She  has  a  nurse  and  such  pretty  clothes  and  she  is  so 
pretty  herself,  but  I  don't  believe  she  has  any  toys  or 
books  in  her  nursery." 

"Where  is  her  mother  ?" 

"She  must  be  dead.  There  is  no  lady  in  her  house  but 
the  Lady  Downstairs.  She  is  very  pretty  and  is  always 
laughing.  But  she  is  not  her  mother  becaiise  she  doesn't 
like  her  and  she  never  kisses  her.  I  think  that's  the 
queerest  thing  of  all.  No  one  had  ever  kissed  her  till  I 
did." 

His  mother  was  a  woman  given  to  psychological  analysis. 
Her  eyes  began  to  dwell  on  his  face  with  slightly  anxious 
questioning. 

"Did  you  kiss  her  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Yes.  I  kissed  her  when  I  said  good  morning  the  first 
day.  I  thought  she  didn't  like  me  to  do  it  but  she  did. 
It  was  only  because  no  one  had  ever  done  it  before.  She 
likes  it  very  much." 

He  leaned  farther  over  the  writing  table  and  began  to 


pour  forth,  his  smile  growing  and  his  eyes  full  of  pleasure. 
His  mother  was  a  trifle  alarmedly  struck  by  the  feeling 
that  he  was  talking  like  a  young  man  in  love  who  cannot 
keep  his  tongue  still,  though  in  his  case  even  the  youngest 
manhood  was  years  away,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal 
his  sentiments  which  a  young  man  would  certainly  have 
striven  to  do. 

"She's  got  such  a  pretty  little  face  and  such  a  pretty 
mouth  and  cheeks,"  he  touched  a  Jacqueminot  rose  in  a 
vase.  "They  are  the  colour  of  that.  Today  a  robin  came 
with  the  sparrows  and  hopped  about  near  us.  We  laughed 
and  laughed  because  her  eyes  are  like  the  robin's,  and  she 
is  called  Robin.  I  wish  you  would  come  into  the  Gardens 
and  see  her,  mother.  She  likes  everything  I  do." 

"I  must  come,  dear,"  she  answered. 

"Nanny  thinks  she  is  lovely,"  he  announced.  "She  says 
I  am  in  love  with  her.  Am  I,  mother?" 

"You  are  too  young  to  be  in  love,"  she  said.  "And  even 
when  you  are  older  you  must  not  fall  in  love  with  people 
you  know  nothing  about." 

It  was  an  unconscious  bit  of  Scotch  cautiousness  which 
she  at  once  realized  was  absurd  and  quite  out  of  place. 
But—! 

She  realized  it  because  he  stood  tip  and  squared  his 
shoulders  in  an  odd  young-mannish  way.  He  had  not 
flushed  even  faintly  before  and  now  a  touch  of  colour 
crept  under  his  fair  skin. 

"But  I  do  love  her,"  he  said.  "I  do.  I  can't  stop." 
And  though  he  was  quite  simple  and  obviously  little  boy- 
like,  she  actually  felt  frightened  for  a  moment. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  THE  afternoon  of  the  day  upon  which  this 
occurred,  Coombe  was  standing  in  Feather's  draw 
ing-room  with  a  cup  of  tea  in  his  hand  and  wearing 
the  look  of  a  man  who  is  given  up  to  reflection. 

"I  saw  Mrs.  Muir  today  for  the  first  time  for  several 
years,"  he  said  after  a  silence.  "She  is  in  London  with 
the  boy." 

"Is  she  as  handsome  as  ever?" 

"Quite.  Hers  is  not  the  beauty  that  disappears.  It  is 
line  and  bearing  and  a  sort  of  splendid  grace  and 
harmony." 

"What  is  the  boy  like  ?" 

Coombe  reflected  again  before  he  answered. 

"He  is — amazing.  One  so  seldom  sees  anything  ap 
proaching  physical  perfection  that  it  strikes  one  a  sort 
of  blow  when  one  comes  upon  it  suddenly  face  to  face/' 

"Is  he  as  beautiful  as  all  that  ?" 

"The  Greeks  used  to  make  statues  of  bodies  like  his. 
They  often  called  them  gods — but  not  always.  The  Cre 
ative  Intention  plainly  was  that  all  human  beings  should 
be  beautiful  and  he  is  the  expression  of  it." 

Feather  was  pretending  to  embroider  a  pink  flower  on 
a  bit  of  gauze  and  she  smiled  vaguely. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  admitted  with  no 
abasement  of  spirit,  "but  if  ever  there  was  any  Intention 
of  that  kind  it  has  not  been  carried  out."  Her  smile 
broke  into  a  little  laugh  as  she  stuck  her  needle  into  her 

101 


102  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

work.  "I'm  thinking  of  Henry,"  she  let  drop  in  addi 
tion. 

"So  was  I,  it  happened/'  answered  Coombe  after  a 
second  or  so  of  pause. 

Henry  was  the  next  of  kin  who  was — to  Coombe's  great 
objection — his  heir  presumptive,  and  was  universally  ad 
mitted  to  be  a  repulsive  sort  of  person  both  physically  and 
morally.  He  had  brought  into  the  world  a  weakly  and 
rickety  framework  and  had  from  mere  boyhood  devoted 
himself  to  a  life  which  would  have  undermined  a  Hercules. 
A  relative  may  so  easily  present  the  aspect  of  an  unfort 
unate  incident  over  which  one  has  no  control.  This  was 
the  case  with  Henry.  His  character  and  appearance  were 
such  that  even  his  connection  with  an  important  heritage 
was  not  enough  to  induce  respectable  persons  to  accept  him 
in  any  form.  But  if  Coombe  remained  without  issue 
Henry  would  be  the  Head  of  the  House. 

"How  is  his  cough  ?"  inquired  Feather. 

"Frightful.  He  is  an  emaciated  wreck  and  he  has  no 
physical  cause  for  remaining  alive." 

Feather  made  three  or  four  stitches. 

"Does  Mrs.  Muir  know?"  she  said. 

"If  Mrs.  Muir  is  conscious  of  his  miserable  existence, 
that  is  all,"  he  answered.  "She  is  not  the  woman  to 
inquire.  Of  course  she  cannot  help  knowing  that — when 
he  is  done  with — her  boy  takes  his  place  in  the  line  of 
succession." 

"Oh,  yes,  she'd  know  that,"  put  in  Feather. 

It  was  Coombe  who  smiled  now — very  faintly. 

"You  have  a  mistaken  view  of  her,"  he  said. 

"You  admire  her  very  much,"  Feather  bridled.  The 
figure  of  this  big  Scotch  creature  with  her  "line"  and  her 
"splendid  grace  and  harmony"  was  enough  to  make  one 
bridle. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  103 

"She  doesn't  admire  me,"  said  Coombe.  "She  is  not 
proud  of  me  as  a  connection.  She  doesn't  really  want 
the  position  for  the  boy,  in  her  heart  of  hearts." 

"Doesn't  want  it!"  Feather's  exclamation  was  a  little 
jeer  only  because  she  would  not  have  dared  a  big  one. 

"She  is  Scotch  Early  Victorian  in  some  things  and  ex 
tremely  advanced  in  others,"  he  went  on.  "She  has  strong 
ideas  of  her  own  as  to  how  he  shall  be  brought  up.  She's 
rather  Greek  in  her  feeling  for  his  being  as  perfect  physic 
ally  and  mentally  as  she  can  help  him  to  be.  She  believes 
things.  It  was  she  who  said  what  you  did  not  understand 
— about  the  Creative  Intention." 

"I  suppose  she  is  religious,"  Feather  said.  "Scotch 
people  often  are  but  their  religion  isn't  usually  like  that. 
Creative  Intention's  a  new  name  for  God,  I  suppose.  I 
ought  to  know  all  about  God.  I've  heard  enough  about 
Him.  My  father  was  not  a  clergyman  but  he  was  very 
miserable,  and  it  made  him  so  religious  that  he  was  almost 
one.  We  were  every  one  of  us  christened  and  catechized 
and  confirmed  and  all  that.  So  God's  rather  an  old  story." 

"Queer  how  old — from  Greenland's  icy  mountains  to 
India's  coral  strand,"  said  Coombe.  "It's  an  ancient 
search — that  for  the  Idea — whether  it  takes  form  in  metal 
or  wood  or  stone." 

"Well,"  said  Feather,  holding  her  bit  of  gauze  away  from 
her  the  better  to  criticize  the  pink  flower.  "As  almost  a 
clergyman's  daughter  I  must  say  that  if  there  is  one 
thing  God  didn't  do,  it  was  to  fill  the  world  with  beautiful 
people  and  things  as  if  it  was  only  to  be  happy  in.  It 
was  made  to — to  try  us  by  suffering  and — that  sort  of 
thing.  It's  a — a — what  d'ye  call  it?  Something  begin 
ning  with  P." 

"Probation,"  suggested  Coombe  regarding  her  with  an 
expression  of  speculative  interest.  Her  airy  bringing 


104  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

forth  of  her  glib  time-worn  little  scraps  of  orthodoxy — 
as  one  who  fished  them  out  of  a  bag  of  long-discarded 
remnants  of  rubbish — was  so  true  to  type  that  it  almost 
fascinated  him  for  the  moment. 

"Yes.  That's  it — probation/'  she  answered.  "I  knew 
it  began  with  a  P.  It  means  'thorny  paths'  and  'seas  of 
blood*  and,  if  you  are  religious,  you  'tread  them  with 
bleeding  feet — '  or  swim  them  as  the  people  do  in  hymns. 
And  you  praise  and  glorify  all  the  time  you're  doing  it. 
Of  course,  I'm  not  religious  myself  and  I  can't  say  I  think 
it's  pleasant — but  I  do  know!  Every  body  beautiful  and 
perfect  indeed !  That's  not  religion — it's  being  irreligious. 
Good  gracious,  think  of  the  cripples  and  lepers  and  hunch 
backs  !" 

"And  the  idea  is  that  God  made  them  all — by  way  of 
entertaining  himself?"  he  put  it  to  her  quietly. 

"Well,  who  else  did?"  said  Feather  cheerfully. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "Certain  things  I  heard  Mrs. 
Muir  say  suggested  to  one  that  it  might  be  interesting  to 
think  it  out." 

"Did  she  talk  to  you  about  God  at  afternoon  tea  ?"  said 
Feather.  "It's  the  kind  of  thing  a  religious  Scotch 
woman  might  do." 

"No,  she  did  not  talk  to  me.  Perhaps  that  was  her 
mistake.  She  might  have  reformed  me.  She  never  says 
more  to  me  than  civility  demands.  And  it  was  not  at  tea. 
I  accidentally  dropped  in  on  the  Bethunes  and  found  an 
Oriental  had  been  lecturing  there.  Mrs.  Muir  was  talking 
to  him  and  I  heard  her.  The  man  seemed  to  be  a  scholar 
and  a  deep  thinker  and  as  they  talked  a  group  of  us  stood 
and  listened  or  asked  questions." 

"How  funny !"  said  Feather. 

"It  was  not  funny  at  all.  It  was  astonishingly  calm 
and  serious — and  logical.  The  logic  was  the  new  note.  I 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  105 

had  never  thought  of  reason  in  that  connection  before." 

"Season  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  must  have 
faith.  You  must  just  believe  what  you're  told  and  not 
think  at  all.  Thinking  is  wickedness — unless  you  think 
what  you  hear  preached."  Feather  was  even  a  trifle 
delicately  smug  as  she  rattled  off  her  orthodoxy — but  she 
laughed  after  she  had  done  with  it.  "But  it  must  have 
been  funny — a  Turk  or  a  Hindoo  in  a  turban  and  a  thing 
like  a  tea  gown  and  Mrs.  Muir  in  her  Edinburgh  looking 
clothes  talking  about  God." 

"You  are  quite  out  of  it,"  Coombe  did  not  smile  at  all 
as  he  said  it.  "The  Oriental  was  as  physically  beautiful 
as  Donal  Muir  is.  And  Mrs.  Muir — no  other  woman  in 
the  room  compared  with  her.  Perhaps  people  who  think 
grow  beautiful." 

Feather  was  not  often  alluring  or  coquettish  in  her 
manner  to  Coombe  but  she  tilted  her  head  prettily  and 
looked  down  at  her  flower  through  lovely  lashes. 

"/  don't  think/'  she  said.  "And  I  am  not  so  bad 
looking." 

"No,"  he  answered  coldly.  "You  are  not.  At  times 
you  look  like  a  young  angel." 

"If  Mrs.  Muir  is  like  that,"  she  said  after  a  brief  pause. 
"I  should  like  to  know  what  she  thinks  of  me  ?" 

"No,  you  would  not — neither  should  I — if  she  thinks 
at  all,"  was  his  answer.  "But  you  remember  you  said  you 
did  not  mind  that  sort  of  thing." 

"I  don't.  Why  should  I?  It  can't  harm  me."  Her 
hint  of  a  pout  made  her  mouth  entrancing.  "But,  if  she 
thinks  good  looks  are  the  result  of  religiousness  I  should 
like  to  let  her  see  Kobin — and  compare  her  with  her  boy. 
I  saw  Eobin  in  the  park  last  week  and  she's  a  perfect 
beauty." 

"Last  week?"  said  Coombe, 


106  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"She  doesn't  need  anyone  but  Andrews.  I  should  bore 
her  to  death  if  I  went  and  sat  in  the  Nursery  and  stared 
at  her.  No  one  does  that  sort  of  thing  in  these  days.  But 
I  should  like  Mrs.  Muir  to  see  the  two  children  together !" 

"That  could  not  easily  be  arranged,  I  am  afraid,"  he 
said. 

"Why  not  ?" 

His  answer  was  politely  deliberate. 

"She  greatly  disapproves  of  me,  I  have  told  you.  She 
is  not  proud  of  the  relationship." 

"She  does  not  like  me  you  mean?" 

"Excuse  me.  I  mean  exactly  what  I  said  in  telling  you 
that  she  has  her  own  very  strong  views  of  the  boy's  train 
ing  and  surroundings.  They  may  be  ridiculous  but  that 
sort  of  thing  need  not  trouble  you." 

Feather  help  up  her  hand  and  actually  laughed. 

"If  Eobin  meets  him  in  ten  years  from  now — that  for 
her  very  strong  views  of  his  training  and  surroundings !" 

And  she  snapped  her  ringers. 


Mrs.  Muir's  distaste  for  her  son's  unavoidable  connec 
tion  with  the  man  he  might  succeed  had  a  firm  foundation. 
She  had  been  brought  up  in  a  Scottish  Manse  where  her 
father  dominated  as  an  omnipotent  and  almost  divine 
authority.  As  a  child  of  imagination  she  had  not  been 
happy  but  she  had  been  obedient.  In  her  girlhood  she 
had  varied  from  type  through  her  marriage  with  a  young 
man  who  was  a  dreamer,  an  advanced  thinker,  an  impas 
sioned  Greek  scholar  and  a  lover  of  beauty.  After  he  had 
released  her  from  her  terrors  of  damnation,  they  had  been 
profoundly  happy.  They  were  young  and  at  ease  and  they 
read  and  thought  together  ardently.  They  explored  new 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE  107 

creeds  and  cults  and  sometimes  found  themselves  talking 
nonsense  and  sometimes  discovering  untrodden  paths  of 
wisdom.  They  were  youthful  enough  to  be  solemn  about 
things  at  times,  and  clever  enough  to  laugh  at  their 
solemnity  when  they  awakened  to  it.  Helen  Muir  left 
the  reverent  gloom  of  the  life  at  the  Manse  far  behind 
despite  her  respect  for  certain  meanings  they  beclouded. 

"I  live  in  a  new  structure,"  she  said  to  her  husband, 
<fbut  it  is  built  on  a  foundation  which  is  like  a  solid 
subterranean  chamber.  I  don't  use  the  subterranean 
chamber  or  go  into  it.  I  don't  want  to.  But  now  and 
then  echoes — almost  noises — make  themselves  heard  in  it. 
Sometimes  I  find  I  have  listened  in  spite  of  myself." 

She  had  always  been  rather  grave  about  her  little  son 
and  when  her  husband's  early  death  left  him  and  his 
dignified  but  not  large  estate  in  her  care  she  realized  that 
there  lay  in  her  hands  the  power  to  direct  a  life  as  she 
chose,  in  as  far  as  was  humanly  possible.  The  pure  blood 
and  healthy  tendencies  of  a  long  and  fine  ancestry  express 
ing  themselves  in  the  boy's  splendid  body  and  unusual 
beauty  had  set  the  minds  of  two  imaginative  people  work 
ing  from  the  first.  One  of  Muir's  deepest  interests  was 
the  study  of  development  of  the  race.  It  was  he  who  had 
planted  in  her  mind  that  daringly  fearless  thought  of  a 
human  perfection  as  to  the  Intention  of  the  Creative 
Cause.  They  used  to  look  at  the  child  as  he  lay  asleep 
and  note  the  beauty  of  him — his  hands,  his  feet,  his  torso, 
the  tint  and  texture  and  line  of  him. 

"This  is  what  was  meant — in  the  plan  for  every  human 
being — How  could  there  be  scamping  and  inefficiency  in 
Creation.  It  is  we  ourselves  who  have  scamped  and  been 
incomplete  in  our  thought  and  life.  Here  he  is.  Look 
at  him.  But  he  will  only  develop  as  he  is — if  living  does 
not  warp  him."  This  was  what  his  father  said.  His 


108  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

mother  was  at  her  gravest  as  she  looked  down  at  the  little 
god  in  the  crib. 

"It's  as  if  some  power  had  thrust  a  casket  of  loose  jewels 
into  our  hands  and  said,  'It  is  for  you  to  see  that  not 
one  is  lost',"  she  murmured.  Then  she  looked  up  and 
smiled. 

"Are  we  heing  solemn— over  a  baby?"  she  said. 

"Perhaps,"  he  was  always  even  readier  to  smile  than 
she  was.  "I've  an  idea,  however,  that  there's  enough  to 
be  solemn  about — not  too  solemn,  but  just  solemn  enough. 
You  are  a  beautiful  thing,  Fair  Helen !  Why  shouldn't 
he  be  like  you?  Neither  of  us  will  forget  what  we  have 
just  said." 

Through  her  darkest  hours  of  young  bereavement  she 
remembered  the  words  many  times  and  felt  as  if  they 
were  a  sort  of  light  she  might  hold  in  her  hand  as  she 
trod  the  paths  of  the  " Afterwards"  which  were  in  the  days 
before  her.  She  lived  with  Donal  at  Braemarnie  and 
lived  for  him  without  neglecting  her  duty  of  being  the 
head  of  a  household  and  an  estate  and  also  a  good  and 
gracious  neighbour  to  things  and  people.  She  kept  watch 
over  every  jewel  in  his  casket,  great  and  small.  He  was 
so  much  a  part  of  her  religion  that  sometimes  she  realized 
that  the  echoes  from  the  subterranean  chamber  were  per 
haps  making  her  a  little  strict  but  she  tried  to  keep  guard 
over  herself. 

He  was  handsome  and  radiant  with  glowing  health  and 
vitality.  He  was  a  friendly,  rejoicing  creature  and  as  full 
of  the  joy  of  life  as  a  scampering  moor  pony.  He  was 
clever  enough  but  not  too  clever  and  he  was  friends  with 
the  world.  Braemarnie  was  picturesquely  ancient  and 
beautiful.  It  would  be  a  home  of  sufficient  ease  and 
luxury  to  be  a  pleasure  but  no  burden.  Life  in  it  could 
be  perfect  and  also  supply  freedom.  Coombe  Court  and 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  109 

Coombe  Keep  were  huge  and  castellated  and  demanded 
great  things.  Even  if  the  Head  of  the  House  had  been  a 
man  to  like  and  be  proud  of — the  accession  of  a  beautiful 
young  Marquis  would  rouse  the  hounds  of  war,  so  to 
speak,  and  set  them  racing  upon  his  track.  Even  the 
totally  unalluring  "Henry"  had  been  beset  with  tempta 
tions  from  his  earliest  years.  That  he  promptly  suc 
cumbed  to  the  first  only  brought  forth  others.  It  did  not 
seem  fair  that  a  creature  so  different,  a  splendid  fearless 
thing,  should  be  dragged  from  his  hills  and  moors  and 
fair  heather  and  made  to  breathe  the  foul  scent  of  things, 
of  whose  poison  he  could  know  nothing.  She  was  not  an 
ignorant  childish  woman.  In  her  fine  aloof  way  she  had 
learned  much  in  her  stays  in  London  with  her  husband 
and  in  their  explorings  of  foreign  cities. 

This  was  the  reason  for  her  views  of  her  boy's  training 
and  surroundings.  She  had  not  asked  questions  about 
Coombe  himself,  but  it  had  not  been  necessary.  Once  or 
twice  she  had  seen  Feather  by  chance.  In  spite  of  herself 
she  had  heard  about  Henry.  Now  and  then  he  was 
furbished  up  and  appeared  briefly  at  Coombe  Court  or  at 
The  Keep.  It  was  always  briefly  because  he  inevitably 
began  to  verge  on  misbehaving  himself  after  twenty-four 
hours  had  passed.  On  his  last  visit  to  Coombe  House  in 
town,  where  he  had  turned  up  without  invitation,  he  had 
become  so  frightfully  drunk  that  he  had  been  barely  rescued 
from  the  trifling  faux  pas  of  attempting  to  kiss  a  very 
young  royal  princess.  There  were  quite  definite  objec 
tions  to  Henry. 

Helen  Muir  was  not  proud  of  the  Coombe  relationship 
and  with  unvaried  and  resourceful  good  breeding  kept 
herself  and  her  boy  from  all  chance  of  being  drawn  into 
anything  approaching  an  intimacy.  Donal  knew  nothing 
of  his  prospects.  There  would  be  time  enough  for  that 


110  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

when  he  was  older,  but,  in  the  meantime,  there  should 
be  no  intercourse  if  it  could  be  avoided. 

She  had  smiled  at  herself  when  the  "echo"  had  prompted 
her  to  the  hint  of  a  quaint  caution  in  connection  with  his 
little  boy  flame  of  delight  in  the  strange  child  he  had  made 
friends  with.  But  it  had  been  a  flame  and,  though  she 
had  smiled,  she  had  sat  very  still  by  the  window  later  that 
night  and  she  had  felt  a  touch  of  weight  on  her  heart  as 
she  thought  it  over.  There  were  wonderful  years  when 
one  could  give  one's  children  all  the  things  they  wanted, 
she  was  saying  to  herself — the  desires  of  their  child  hearts, 
the  joy  of  their  child  bodies,  their  little  raptures  of  delight. 
Those  were  divine  years.  They  were  so  safe  then.  Donal 
was  living  through  those  years  now.  He  did  not  know 
that  any  happiness  could  be  taken  from  him.  He  was  hers 
and  she  was  his.  It  would  be  horrible  if  there  were  any 
thing  one  could  not  let  him  keep — in  this  early  un 
shadowed  time ! 

She  was  looking  out  at  the  Spring  night  with  all  its 
stars  lit  and  gleaming  over  the  Park  which  she  could  see 
from  her  window.  Suddenly  she  left  her  chair  and  rang 
for  Nanny. 

"Nanny,"  she  said  when  the  old  nurse  came,  "tell  me 
something  about  the  little  girl  Donal  plays  with  in  the 
Square  gardens." 

"She's  a  bonny  thing  and  finely  dressed,  ma'am,"  was 
the  woman's  careful  answer,  "but  I  don't  make  friends 
with  strange  nurses  and  I  don't  think  much  of  hers. 
She's  a  young  dawdler  who  sits  novel  reading  and  if 
Master  Donal  were  a  young  pickpocket  with  the  measles, 
the  child  would  be  playing  with  him  just  the  same  as  far 
as  I  can  see.  The  young  woman  sits  under  a  tree  and 
reads  and  the  pretty  little  thing  may  do  what  she  likes.  I 
keep  my  eye  on  them,  however,  and  they're  in  no  mischief. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  111 

Master  Donal  reads  out  of  his  picture  books  and  shows 
himself  off  before  her  grandly  and  she  laughs  and  looks 
up  to  him  as  if  he  were  a  king.  Every  lad  child  likes  a 
woman  child  to  look  up  to  him.  It's  pretty  to  see  the 
pair  of  them.  They're  daft  about  each  other.  Just  wee 
things  in  love  at  first  sight." 

"Donal  has  known  very  few  girls.  Those  plain  little 
things  at  the  Manse  are  too  dull  for  him/'  his  mother  said 
slowly. 

"This  one's  not  plain  and  she's  not  dull,"  Nanny 
answered.  "My  word!  but  she's  like  a  bit  of  witch  fire 
dancing — with  her  colour  and  her  big  silk  curls  in  a  heap. 
Donal  stares  at  her  like  a  young  man  at  a  beauty.  I  wish, 
ma'am,  we  knew  more  of  her  forbears." 

"I  must  see  her,"  Mrs.  Muir  said.  "Tomorrow  I'll  go 
with  you  both  to  the  Gardens." 

Therefore  the  following  day  Donal  pranced  proudly  up 
the  path  to  his  trysting  place  and  with  him  walked  a  tall 
lady  at  whom  people  looked  as  she  passed.  She  was  fair 
like  Donal  and  had  a  small  head  softly  swathed  with  lovely 
folds  of  hair.  Also  her  eyes  were  very  clear  and  calm. 
Donal  was  plainly  proud  and  happy  to  be  with  her  and 
was  indeed  prancing  though  his  prance  was  broken  by 
walking  steps  at  intervals. 

Robin  was  waiting  behind  the  lilac  bushes  and  her  nurse 
was  already  deep  in  the  mystery  of  Lady  Audley. 

"There  she  is!"  cried  Donal,  and  he  ran  to  her.  "My 
mother  has  come  with  me.  She  wants  to  see  you,  too," 
and  he  pulled  her  forward  by  her  hand.  "This  is  Eobin, 
Mother !  This  is  Eobin."  He  panted  with  elation  and 
stood  holding  his  prize  as  if  she  might  get  away  before  he 
had  displayed  her ;  his  eyes  lifted  to  his  tall  mother's  were 
those  of  an  exultant  owner. 

Robin  had  no  desire  to  run  away.     To  adore  anything 


112  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

which  belonged  to  Donal  was  only  nature.  And  this 
tall,  fair,  wonderful  person  was  a  Mother.  No  wonder 
Donal  talked  of  her  so  much.  The  child  could  only  look 
up  at  her  as  Donal  did.  So  they  stood  hand  in  hand  like 
little  worshippers  before  a  deity. 

Andrews'  sister  in  her  pride  had  attired  the  small 
creature  like  a  flower  of  Spring.  Her  exquisiteness  and 
her  physical  brilliancy  gave  Mrs.  Muir  something  not 
unlike  a  slight  shock.  Oh!  no  wonder — since  she  was 
like  that.  She  stooped  and  kissed  the  round  cheek  del 
icately. 

"Donal  wanted  me  to  see  his  little  friend,"  she  said.  "I 
always  want  to  see  his  playmates.  Shall  we  walk  round 
the  Garden  together  and  you  shall  show  me  where  you 
play  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

She  took  the  small  hand  and  they  walked  slowly.  Eobin 
was  at  first  too  much  awed  to  talk  but  as  Donal  was  not 
awed  at  all  and  continued  his  prancing  and  the  Mother 
lady  said  pretty  things  about  the  flowers  and  the  grass 
and  the  birds  and  even  about  the  pony  at  Braemarnie, 
she  began  now  and  then  to  break  into  a  little  hop  herself 
and  presently  into  sudden  ripples  of  laughter  like  a  bird's 
brief  bubble  of  song.  The  tall  lady's  hand  was  not  like 
Andrews,  or  the  hand  of  Andrews'  sister.  It  did  not 
pull  or  jerk  and  it  had  a  lovely  feeling.  The  sensation 
she  did  not  know  was  happiness  again  welled  up  within 
her.  Just  one  walk  round  the  Garden  and  then  the  tall 
lady  sat  down  on  a  seat  to  watch  them  play.  It  was 
wonderful.  She  did  not  read  or  work.  She  sat  and 
watched  them  as  if  she  wanted  to  do  that  more  than 
anything  else.  Donal  kept  calling  out  to  her  and  making 
her  smile:  he  ran  backwards  and  forwards  to  her  to  ask 
questions  and  tell  her  what  they  were  "making  up"  to 
play.  When  they  gathered  leaves  to  prick  stars  and 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  113 

circles  on,  they  did  them  on  the  seat  on  which  she  sat  and 
she  helped  them  with  new  designs.  Several  times,  in  the 
midst  of  her  play,  Eobin  stopped  and  stood  still  a  moment 
with  a  sort  of  puzzled  expression.  It  was  because  she 
did  not  feel  like  Eobin.  Two  people — a  big  boy  and  a 
lady — letting  her  play  and  talk  to  them  as  if  they  liked 
her  and  had  time ! 

The  truth  was  that  Mrs.  Muir's  eyes  followed  Kobin 
more  than  they  followed  Donal.  Their  clear  deeps 
yearned  over  her.  Such  a  glowing  vital  little  thing !  No 
wonder !  No  wonder  !  And  as  she  grew  older  she  would 
be  more  vivid  and  compelling  with  every  year.  And 
Donal  was  of  her  kind.  His  strength,  his  beauty,  his  fear 
less  happiness-claiming  temperament.  How  could  one — 
with  dignity  and  delicacy — find  out  why  she  had  this 
obvious  air  of  belonging  to  nobody?  Donal  was  an  exact 
little  lad.  He  had  had  foundation  for  his  curious  scraps 
of  her  story.  No  mother — no  playthings  or  books — no  one 
had  ever  kissed  her!  And  she  dressed  and  soignee  like 
this  !  Who  was  the  Lady  Downstairs  ? 

A  victoria  was  driving  past  the  Gardens.  It  was  going 
slowly  because  the  two  people  in  it  wished  to  look  at  the 
spring  budding  out  of  hyacinths  and  tulips.  Suddenly 
one  of  the  pair — a  sweetly-hued  figure  whose  early  season 
attire  was  hyacinth-like  itself — spoke  to  the  coachman. 

"Stop  here !"  she  said.     "I  want  to  get  out." 

As  the  victoria  drew  up  near  a  gate  she  made  a  light 
gesture. 

"What  do  you  think,  Starling,"  she  laughed.  "The  very 
woman  we  are  talking  about  is  sitting  in  the  Gardens 
there.  I  know  her  perfectly  though  I  only  saw  her 
portrait  at  the  Academy  years  ago.  Yes,  there  she  is. 
Mrs.  Muir,  you  know."  She  clapped  her  hands  and  her 
laugh  became  a  delighted  giggle.  "And  my  Robin  is 


114  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

playing  on  the  grass  near  her — with  a  boy !  What  a  joke ! 
It  must  be  the  boy!  And  I  wanted  to  see  the  pair  to 
gether.  Coombe  said  it  couldn't  be  done.  And  more 
than  anything  I  want  to  speak  to  her.  Let's  get  out." 

They  got  out  and  this  was  why  Helen  Muir,  turning  her 
eyes  a  moment  from  Eobin  whose  hand  she  was  holding, 
saw  two  women  coming  towards  her  with  evident  intention. 
At  least  one  of  them  had  evident  intention.  She  was  the 
one  whose  light  attire  produced  the  effect  of  being  made 
of  hyacinth  petals. 

Because  Mrs.  Muir's  glance  turned  towards  her,  Robin's 
turned  also.  She  started  a  little  and  leaned  against  Mrs. 
Muir's  knee,  her  eyes  growing  very  large  and  round  indeed 
and  filling  with  a  sudden  worshipping  light. 

"It  is — "  she  ecstatically  sighed  or  rather  gasped,  "the 
Lady  Downstairs  I" 

Feather  floated  near  to  the  seat  and  paused  smiling. 

"Where  is  your  nurse,  Eobin  ?"  she  said. 

Robin  being  always  dazzled  by  the  sight  of  her  did  not 
of  course  shine. 

"She  is  reading  under  the  tree,"  she  answered  trem 
ulously. 

''She  is  only  a  few  yards  away/'  said  Mrs.  Muir.  "She 
knows  Robin  is  playing  with  my  boy  and  that  I  am  watch 
ing  them.  Robin  is  your  little  girl?"  amiably. 

"Yes.  So  kind  of  you  to  let  her  play  with  your  boy. 
Don't  let  her  bore  you.  I  am  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless." 

There  was  a  little  silence — a  delicate  little  silence. 

"I  recognized  you  as  Mrs.  Muir  at  once,"  said  Feather 
unperturbed  and  smiling  brilliantly,  "I  saw  your  portrait 
at  the  Grosvenor." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Muir  gently.  She  had  risen  and  was 
beautifully  tall, — "the  line"  was  perfect,  and  she  looked 
with  a  gracious  calm  into  Feather's  eyes. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  115 

Donal,  allured  by  the  hyacinth  petal  colours,  drew  near. 
Robin  made  an  unconscious  little  catch  at  his  plaid  and 
whispered  something. 

"Is  this  Donal  ?"  Feather  said. 

"Are  you  the  Lady  Downstairs,  please?"  Donal  put  in 
politely,  because  he  wanted  so  to  know. 

Feather's  pretty  smile  ended  in  the  prettiest  of  outright 
laughs.  Her  maid  had  told  her  Andrews'  story  of  the 
name. 

"Yes,  I  believe  that's  what  she  calls  me.  It's  a  nice 
name  for  a  mother,  isn't  it  ?" 

Donal  took  a  quick  step  forward. 

"Are  you  her  mother  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Of  course  I  am." 

Donal  quite  flushed  with  excitement. 

"She  doesn't  know,"  he  said. 

He  turned  on  Robin. 

"She's  your  Mother!  You  thought  you  hadn't  one! 
She's  your  Mother!" 

"But  I  am  the  Lady  Downstairs,  too."  Feather  was 
immensely  amused.  She  was  not  subtle  enough  to  know 
why  she  felt  a  perverse  kind  of  pleasure  in  seeing  the 
Scotch  woman  standing  so  still,  and  that  it  led  her  into 
a  touch  of  vulgarity.  "I  wanted  very  much  to  see  your 
boy,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  still  gently  from  Mrs.  Muir. 

"Because  of  Coombe,  you  know.  We  are  such  old 
friends.  How  queer  that  the  two  little  things  have  made 
friends,  too.  I  didn't  know.  I  am  so  glad  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  you  and  that  I  had  seen  the  portrait.  Good 
morning.  Goodbye,  children." 

While  she  strayed  airily  away  they  all  watched  her. 
She  picked  tip  her  friend,  the  Starling,  who,  not  feeling 
concerned  or  needed,  had  paused  to  look  at  daffodils. 


116  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

The  children  watched  her  until  her  victoria  drove  away, 
the  chiffon  ruffles  of  her  flowerlike  parasol  fluttering  in 
the  air. 

Mrs.  Muir  had  sat  down  again  and  Donal  and  Robin 
leaned  against  her.  They  saw  she  was  not  laughing  any 
more  but  they  did  not  know  that  her  eyes  had  something 
like  grief  in  them. 

"She's  her  Mother!"  Donal  cried.  "She's  lovely,  too. 
But  she's — her  Mother!"  and  his  voice  and  face  were 
equally  puzzled. 

Eobin's  little  hand  delicately  touched  Mrs.  Muir. 

"/s__she?"  she  faltered. 

Helen  Muir  took  her  in  her  arms  and  held  her  quite 
close.  She  kissed  her. 

"Yes,  she  is,  my  lamb,"  she  said.     "She's  your  mother.'* 

She  was  clear  as  to  what  she  must  do  for  Donal's  sake. 
It  was  the  only  safe  and  sane  course.  But — at  this  age — • 
the  child  was  a  lamb  and  she  could  not  help  holding  her 
close  for  a  moment.  Her  little  body  was  deliciously  soft 
and  warm  and  the  big  silk  curls  all  in  a  heap  were  a 
fragrance  against  her  breast. 


CHAPTER  X 

DONAL  talked  a  great  deal  as  he  pranced  home. 
Feather  had  excited  as  well  as  allured  him.  Why 
hadn't  she  told  Robin  she  was  her  mother  ?  Why 
did  she  never  show  her  pictures  in  the  Nursery  and  hold 
her  on  her  knee?  She  was  little  enough  to  he  held  on 
knees !  Did  some  mothers  never  tell  their  children  and 
did  the  children  never  find  out  ?  This  was  what  he  wanted 
to  hear  explained.  He  took  the  gloved  hand  near  him  and 
held  it  close  and  a  trifle  authoritatively. 

"I  am  glad  I  know  you  are  my  mother/'  he  said,  "I 
always  knew." 

He  was  not  sure  that  the  matter  was  explained  very 
clearly.  Not  as  clearly  as  things  usually  were.  But  he 
was  not  really  disturbed.  He  had  remembered  a  book  he 
could  show  Robin  tomorrow  and  he  thought  of  that. 
There  was  also  a  game  in  a  little  box  which  could  be 
easily  carried  under  his  arm.  His  mother  was  "thinking" 
and  he  was  used  to  that.  It  came  on  her  sometimes  and 
of  his  own  volition  he  always,  on  such  occasion,  kept  as 
quiet  as  was  humanly  possible. 

After  he  was  asleep,  Helen  sent  for  Nanny. 

"You're  tired,  ma'am/'  the  woman  said  when  she  saw 
her,  "I'm  afraid  you've  a  headache." 

"I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  thinking  to  do  since  this 
afternoon,"  her  mistress  answered,  "You  were  right  about 
the  nurse.  The  little  girl  might  have  been  playing  with 
any  boy  chance  sent  in  her  way — boys  quite  unlike  Donal." 

117 


118  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Yes,  ma'am."  And  because  she  loved  her  and  knew 
her  face  and  voice  Nanny  watched  her  closely. 

"You  will  be  as — startled — as  I  was.  By  some  queer 
chance  the  child's  mother  was  driving  by  and  saw  us  and 
came  in  to  speak  to  me.  Nanny — she  is  Mrs.  Gareth- 
Lawless." 

Nanny  did  start;  she  also  reddened  and  spoke  sharply. 

"And  she  came  in  and  spoke  to  you,  ma'am !" 

"Things  have  altered  and  are  altering  every  day,"  Mrs. 
Muir  said.  "Society  is  not  at  all  inflexible.  She  has  a 
smart  set  of  her  own — and  she  is  very  pretty  and  evidently 
well  provided  for.  Easy-going  people  who  choose  to  find 
explanations  suggest  that  her  husband  was  a  relation  of 
Lord  Lawdor's." 

"And  him  a  canny  Scotchman  with  a  new  child  a  year. 
Yes,  my  certie,"  offered  Nanny,  with  an  acrid  grimness. 
Mrs.  Muir's  hands  clasped  themselves  strongly  as  they 
lay  on  the  table  before  her. 

"That  doesn't  come  within  my  bailiewick,"  she  said  in 
her  quiet  voice.  "Her  life  is  her  own  and  not  mine. 
Words  are  the  wind  that  blows."  She  stopped  just  a 
moment  and  began  again.  "We  must  leave  for  Scotland 
by  the  earliest  train." 

"What'll  he  do  ?"  the  words  escaped  from  the  woman  as 
if  involuntarily.  She  even  drew  a  quick  breath.  "He's 
a  strong  feeling  bairn — strong!" 

"He'll  be  stronger  when  he  is  a  young  man,  Nanny !" 
desperately.  "That  is  why  I  must  act  now.  There  is  no 
half  way.  I  don't  want  to  be  hard.  Oh,  am  I  hard — am 
I  hard  ?"  she  cried  out  low  as  if  she  were  pleading. 

"No,  ma'am.  You  are  not.  He's  your  own  flesh  and 
blood."  Nanny  had  never  before  seen  her  mistress  as  she 
saw  her  in  the  next  curious  almost  exaggerated  moment. 

Her  hand  flew  to  her  side. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  119 

"He's  my  heart  and  my  soul — "  she  said,  " — he  is  the 
very  entrails  of  me !  And  it  will  hurt  him  so  and  I  cannot 
explain  to  him  because  he  is  too  young  to  understand.  He 
is  only  a  little  boy  who  must  go  where  he  is  taken.  And 
he  cannot  help  himself.  It's — unfair !" 

Nanny  was  prone  to  become  more  Scotch  as  she  became 
moved.  But  she  still  managed  to  look  grim. 

"He  canna  help  himsel,"  she  said,  "an  waur  still,  you 
canna." 

There  was  a  moment  of  stillness  and  then  she  said : 

"I  must  go  and  pack  up."     And  walked  out  of  the  room. 


Donal  always  slept  like  a  young  roe  in  the  bracken,  and 
in  deep  and  rapturous  ease  he  slept  this  night.  Another 
perfectly  joyful  day  had  passed  and  his  Mother  had  liked 
Robin  and  kissed  her.  All  was  well  with  the  world.  As 
long  as  he  had  remained  awake — and  it  had  not  been  long 
— he  had  thought  of  delightful  things  unfeverishly.  Of 
Robin,  somehow  at  Braemarnie,  growing  bigger  very 
quickly — big  enough  for  all  sorts  of  games — learning  to 
ride  Chieftain,  even  to  gallop.  His  mother  would  buy 
another  pony  and  they  could  ride  side  by  side.  Eobin 
would  laugh  and  her  hair  would  fly  behind  her  if  they 
went  fast.  She  would  see  how  fast  he  could  go — she 
would  see  him  make  Chieftain  jump.  They  would  have 
picnics — catch  sight  of  deer  and  fawns  delicately  lifting 
their  feet  as  they  stepped.  She  would  always  look  at  him 
with  that  nice  look  in  her  eyes  and  the  little  smile  which 
came  and  went  in  a  second.  She  was  quite  different  from 
the  minister's  little  girls  at  the  Manse.  He  liked  her — 
he  liked  her ! 


120  THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

He  was  wakened  by  a  light  in  his  room  and  by  the  sound 
of  moving  about.  He  sat  up  quickly  and  found  his 
Mother  standing  by  his  bed  and  Nanny  putting  things 
into  a  travelling  bag.  He  felt  as  if  his  Mother  looked 
taller  than  she  had  looked  yesterday — and  almost  thin — 
and  her  face  was  anxious  and — shy. 

"We  let  you  sleep  as  late  as  we  could,  Donal,"  she  said. 
"You  must  get  up  quickly  now  and  have  breakfast.  Some 
thing  has  happened.  We  are  obliged  to  go  back  to  Scot 
land  by  very  early  train.  There  is  not  a  minute  to  waste." 

At  first  he  only  said : 

"Back  I" 

"Yes,  dear.     Get  up." 

"To  Braemarnie?" 

"Yes,  dear  laddie !" 

He  felt  himself  grow  hot  and  then  cold. 

"Away !     Away  I"  he  said  again  vaguely. 

"Yes.     Get  up,  dear." 

He  was  as  she  had  said  only  a  little  boy  and  accustomed 
to  do  as  he  was  told.  He  was  also  a  fine,  sturdy  little 
Scot  with  a  pride  of  his  own.  His  breeding  had  been  of 
the  sort  which  did  not  include  insubordinate  scenes,  so 
he  got  out  of  bed  and  began  to  dress.  But  his  mother 
saw  that  his  hands  shook. 

"I  shall  not  see  Eobin,"  he  said  in  a  queer  voice.  "She 
won't  find  me  when  she  goes  behind  the  lilac  bushes.  She 
won't  know  why  I  don't  come." 

He  swallowed  very  hard  and  was  dead  still  for  a  few 
minutes,  though  he  did  not  linger  over  his  dressing.  His 
mother  felt  that  the  whole  thing  was  horrible.  He  was 
acting  almost  like  a  young  man  even  now.  She  did  not 
know  how  she  could  bear  it.  She  spoke  to  him  in  a  tone 
which  was  actually  rather  humble. 

"If  we  knew  where  she  lived  you — you  could  write  a 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  121 

little  letter  and  tell  her  about  it.  But  we  do  not  know 
where  she  lives." 

He  answered  her  very  low. 

"That's  it.  And  she's  little — and  she  won't  understand. 
She's  very  little — really."  There  was  a  harrowingly  pro 
tective  note  in  his  voice.  "Perhaps — she'll  cry." 

Helen  looking  down  at  him  with  anguished  eyes — he 
was  buttoning  his  shoes — made  an  unearthly  effort  to  find 
words,  but,  as  she  said  them,  she  knew  they  were  not  the 
right  ones. 

"She  will  be  disappointed,  of  course,  but  she  is  so 
little  that  she  will  not  feel  it  as  much  as  if  she  were  bigger. 
She  will  get  over  it,  darling.  Very  little  girls  do  not 
remember  things  long."  Oh,  how  coarse  and  crass  and 
stupid  it  sounded — how  course  and  crass  and  stupid  to 
say  it  to  this  small  defiant  scrap  of  what  seemed  the  in 
evitable  suffering  of  the  world ! 

The  clear  blue  of  the  eyes  Eobin  had  dwelt  in,  lifted 
itself  to  her.  There  was  something  almost  fierce  in  it — 
almost  like  impotent  hatred  of  something. 

"She  won't,"  he  said,  and  she  actually  heard  him  grind 
his  little  teeth  after  it. 

He  did  not  look  like  Donal  when  he  was  dressed  and 
sat  at  the  breakfast  table.  He  did  not  eat  much  of  his 
porridge,  but  she  saw  that  he  determinedly  ate  some. 
She  felt  several  times  as  if  he  actually  did  not  look  like 
anybody  she  had  ever  seen.  And  at  the  same  time  his 
fair  hair,  his  fair  cheeks,  and  the  fair  sturdy  knees  beneath 
his  swinging  kilt  made  him  seem  as  much  a  little  boy  as 
she  had  ever  known  him.  It  was  his  hot  blue  eyes  which 
were  different. 

He  obeyed  her  every  wish  and  followed  where  she  led. 
When  the  train  laboured  out  of  the  big  station  he  had 
taken  a  seat  in  a  corner  and  sat  with  his  face  turned  to 


122  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

the  window,  so  that  his  back  was  towards  her.  He  stared 
and  stared  at  the  passing  country  and  she  could  only  see 
part  of  his  cheek  and  the  side  of  his  neck.  She  could 
not  help  watching  them  and  presently  she  saw  a  hot  red 
glow  under  the  skin  as  if  a  flood  had  risen.  It  subsided 
in  a  few  moments,  but  presently  she  saw  it  rise  again. 
This  happened  several  times  and  he  was  holding  his  lip 
with  his  teeth.  Once  she  saw  his  shoulders  move  and  he 
coughed  obstinately  two  or  three  times.  She  knew  that 
he  would  die  before  he  would  let  himself  cry,  but  she 
wished  he  would  descend  to  it  just  this  once,  as  the  fields 
and  hedges  raced  past  and  he  was  carried  "Away !  Away !" 
It  might  be  that  it  was  all  his  manhood  she  was  saving 
for  him. 

He  really  made  her  heart  stand  still  for  a  moment  just 
as  she  was  thinking  this  and  saying  it  to  herself  almost 
fiercely.  He  suddenly  turned  on  her;  the  blue  of  his 
eyes  was  flaming  and  the  tide  had  risen  again  in  his 
cheeks  and  neck.  It  was  a  thing  like  rage  she  saw  before 
her — a  child's  rage  and  impotently  fierce.  He  cried  out 
as  if  he  were  ending  a  sentence  he  had  not  finished  when 
he  spoke  as  he  sat  on  the  floor  buttoning  his  shoes. 

"She  has  no  one  but  me  to  remember  !"  he  said.  "No  one 
but  me  had  ever  even  kissed  her.  She  didn't  know!" 

To  her  amazement  he  clenched  both  his  savage  young 
fists  and  shook  them  before  him. 

"It'll  Ml  me  1"  he  raged. 

She  could  not  hold  herself  back.  She  caught  at  him 
with  her  arms  and  meant  to  drag  him  to  her  breast. 

"No!  No!  Donal!"  she  cried.     "Darling!  No— No!" 

But,  as  suddenly  as  the  queer  unchildish  thing  had 
broken  out,  did  he  remember  himself  and  boy  shame  at 
his  fantastic  emotion  overtook  him.  He  had  never  spoken 
like  that  to  anyone  before !  It  was  almost  as  bad  as  burst- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  123 

ing  out  crying!  The  red  tide  ebbed  away  and  he  with 
drew  himself  awkwardly  from  her  embrace.  He  said  not 
another  word  and  sat  down  in  his  corner  with  his  back 
turned  toward  the  world. 


That  the  Lady  Downstairs,  who  was  so  fond  of  laughing 
and  who  knew  so  many  persons  who  seemed  to  laugh  nearly 
all  the  time,  might  have  been  joking  about  being  her 
mother  presented  itself  to  Eobin  as  a  vague  solution  of 
the  problem.  The  Lady  had  laughed  when  she  said  it, 
as  people  so  often  laughed  at  children.  Perhaps  she  had 
only  been  amusing  herself  as  grown-up  persons  were 
apparently  entitled  to  do.  Even  Donal  had  not  seemed 
wholly  convinced  and  though  his  mother  had  said  the 
Lady  Downstairs  was — somehow  the  subject  had  been 
changed  at  once.  Mrs.  Muir  had  so  soon  begun  to  tell 
them  a  story.  Eobin  was  not  in  the  least  aware  that  she 
had  swiftly  distracted  their  attention  from  a  question,  any 
discussion  of  which  would  have  involved  explanations  she 
could  not  have  produced.  It  would  have  been  impossible 
to  make  it  clear  to  any  child.  She  herself  was  helpless 
before  the  situation  and  therefore  her  only  refuge  was  to 
make  the  two  think  of  other  things.  She  had  so  well 
done  this  that  Eobin  had  gone  home  later  only  remember 
ing  the  brightly  transitory  episode  as  she  recalled  others 
as  brief  and  bright,  when  she  had  stared  at  a  light  and 
lovely  figure  standing  on  the  nursery  threshold  and  asking 
careless  questions  of  Andrews,  without  coming  in  and 
risking  the  freshness  of  her  draperies  by  contact  with 
London  top-floor  grubbiness.  The  child  was,  in  fact,  too 
full  of  the  reality  of  her  happiness  with  Donal  and  Donal's 
mother  to  be  more  than  faintly  bewildered  by  a  sort  of 
visionary  conundrum. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Kobin,  like  Donal,  slept  perfectly  through  the  night. 
Her  sleep  was  perhaps  made  more  perfect  by  fair  dreams 
in  which  she  played  in  the  Gardens  and  she  and  Donal 
ran  to  and  from  the  knees  of  the  Mother  lady  to  ask 
questions  and  explain  their  games.  As  the  child  had 
often,  in  the  past,  looked  up  at  the  sky,  so  she  had  looked 
up  into  the  clear  eyes  of  the  Mother  lady.  There  was 
something  in  them  which  she  had  never  seen  before  but 
which  she  kept  wanting  to  see  again.  Then  there  came 
a  queer  bit  of  a  dream  about  the  Lady  Downstairs.  She 
came  ffaiMang  towards  them  dressed  in  hyacinths  and  with 
her  arms  full  of  daffodils.  She  danced  before  Donal's 
Mother— danced  and  laughed  as  if  she  thought  they  were 
all  funny.  She  threw  a  few  daffodils  at  them  and  then 
danced  away.  The  daffodils  lay  on  the  gravel  walk  and 
they  all  looked  at  them  but  no  one  picked  them  up. 
Afterwards— in  the  dream — Mrs.  Muir  suddenly  caught 
her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her  and  Eobin  was  glad  and 
felt  warm  all  over — inside  and  out. 

She  •wakened  smiling  at  the  dingy  ceiling  of  the  dingy 
room.  There  was  but  one  tiny  shadow  in  the  world,  which 
was  the  fear  that  Andrews  would  get  well  too  quickly. 
She  was  no  longer  in  bed  but  was  well  enough  to  sit  up 
and  sew  a  little  before  the  tiny  fire  in  the  atom  of  a 
servant's  room  grate.  The  doctor  would  not  let  her  go 
out  yet ;  therefore,  Anne  still  remained  in  charge.  Found 
ing  one's  hope  on  previous  knowledge  of  Anne's  habits, 
she  might  be  trusted  to  sit  and  read  and  show  no 
untoward  curiosity. 

From  her  bed  Eobin  could  see  the  sky  was  blue.  That 
meant  that  she  would  be  taken  out.  She  lay  as  quiet  as 
a  mouse  and  thought  of  the  joy  before  her,  until  Anne 
came  to  dress  her  and  give  her  her  breakfast. 

<rWeTl  put  on  your  rose-coloured  smock  this  morning/' 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  125 

the  girl  said,  when  the  dressing  began.  "I  like  the  hat 
*nd  socks  that  match." 

Anne  was  not  quite  like  Andrews  who  was  not  talkative. 
She  made  a  conversational  sort  of  remark  after  she  had 
tied  the  white  shoes. 

"You've  got  pretty  little  aristocratic  legs  of  your  own/' 
she  said  amiably.  "I  like  my  children  to  have  nice  legs." 

Eobin  was  uplifted  in  spirit  by  the  commendation,  but 
she  hoped  Anne  would  put  on  her  own  things  quickly. 
Sometimes  she  was  rather  a  long  time.  The  one  course, 
however,  towards  which  discretion  pointed  as  entirely 
safe  was  the  continuance  of  being  as  quiet  as  a  mouse — 
even  quieter,  if  such  thing  might  be — BO  that  nothing 
might  interfere  with  anything  any  one  wanted  to  do.  To 
interfere  would  have  been  to  attract  attention  and  might 
lead  to  delay.  So  she  stood  and  watched  the  sparrows 
inoffensively  until  Anne  called  her. 

When  she  found  herself  out  on  the  street  her  step  was  so 
light  on  the  pavement  that  she  was  rather  like  a  rose  petal 
blown  fluttering  along  by  soft  vagrant  puffs  of  spring  air. 
Under  her  flopping  hat  her  eyes  and  lips  and  cheeks  were 
so  happy  that  more  than  one  passer-by  turned  head  over 
shoulder  to  look  after  her. 

"Your  name  ought  to  be  Rose,"  Anne  giggled  involun 
tarily  as  she  glanced  down  at  her  because  someone  had 
stared.  She  had  not  meant  to  speak  but  the  words  said 
themselves. 

Because  the  time  was  young  June  even  London  sky  and 
air  were  wonderful.  Stray  breaths  of  fragrance  came  and 
went.  The  green  of  the  trees  in  the  Gardens  was  light 
and  fresh  and  in  the  bedded-out  curves  and  stars  and 
circles  there  were  more  flowers  every  hour,  so  that  it 
seemed  as  if  blooming  things  with  scents  grew  thick  about 
one's  feet.  It  was  no  wonder  one  felt  light  and  smiled 


126  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

back  at  nurses  and  governesses  who  looked  up.  Robin 
drew  eyes  because  she  was  like  a  summer  bloom  suddenly 
appearing  in  the  Spring  Garden. 

Nanny  was  not  sitting  on  the  bench  near  the  gate  and 
Donal  was  not  to  be  seen  amusing  himself.  But  he  was 
somewhere  just  out  of  eight,  or,  if  he  had  chanced  to 
be  late,  he  would  come  very  soon  even  if  his  Mother  could 
not  come  with  him — though  Robin  could  not  believe  she 
would  not.  To  a  child  thing  both  happiness  and  despair 
cannot  be  conceived  of  except  as  lasting  forever. 

Anne  sat  down  and  opened  her  book.  She  had  reached 
an  exciting  part  and  looked  forward  to  a  thoroughly  en 
joyable  morning. 

Robin  hopped  about  for  a  few  minutes.  Donal  had 
taught  her  to  hop  and  she  felt  it  an  accomplishment. 
Entangled  in  the  meshes  of  the  feather}r,  golden,  if 
criminal,  ringlets  of  Lady  Audley,  Anne  did  not  know 
when  she  hopped  round  the  curve  of  the  walk  behind  the 
lilac  and  snowball  bushes. 

Once  safe  in  her  bit  of  enchanted  land,  the  child  stood 
still  and  looked  about  her.  There  was  no  kilted  figure 
to  be  seen,  but  it  would  come  towards  her  soon  with  swing 
ing  plaid  and  eagle's  feather  standing  up  grandly  in  its 
Highland  bonnet.  He  would  come  soon.  Perhaps  he 
would  come  running — and  the  Mother  lady  would  walk 
behind  more  slowly  and  smile.  Robin  waited  and  looked 
— she  waited  and  looked. 

She  was  used  to  waiting  but  she  had  never  watched  for 
any  one  before.  There  had  never  been  any  one  or  anything 
to  watch  for.  The  newness  of  the  suspense  gave  it  a  sort 
of  deep  thrill  at  first.  How  long  was  "at  first"?  She 
did  not  know.  She  stood — and  stood — and  stood — and 
looked  at  every  creature  who  entered  the  gate.  She  did 
not  see  any  one  who  looked  in  the  least  like  Donal  or  his 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  127 

Mother  or  Nanny.  There  were  nurses  and  governesses 
and  children  and  a  loitering  lady  or  two.  There  were 
never  many  people  in  the  Gardens — only  those  who  had 
keys.  She  knew  nothing  about  time  but  at  length  she 
knew  that  on  other  mornings  they  had  been  playing  to 
gether  before  this. 

The  small  rose-coloured  figure  stood  so  still  for  so  long 
that  it  began  to  look  rigid  and  a  nurse  sitting  at  some 
distance  said  to  another, 

"What  is  that  child  waiting  for?" 

What  length  of  time  had  passed  before  she  found  her 
self  looking  slowly  down  at  her  feet  because  of  something. 
The  "something"  which  had'  drawn  her  eyes  downward 
was  that  she  had  stood  so  long  without  moving  that  her 
tense  feet  had  begun  vaguely  to  hurt  her  and  the  ache 
attracted  her  attention.  She  changed  her  position  slightly 
and  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  gate  again.  He  was  coming 
very  soon.  He  would  be  sure  to  run  fast  now  and  he 
would  be  laughing.  Donal!  Donal!  She  even  laughed 
a  little  low,  quivering  laugh  herself. 

"What  is  that  child  waiting  for?  I  should  really  like 
to  know,"  the  distant  nurse  said  again  curiously. 

If  she  had  been  eighteen  years  old  she  would  have  said 
to  herself  that  she  was  waiting  hours  and  hours.  She 
would  have  looked  at  a  little  watch  a  thousand  times ;  she 
would  have  walked  up  and  down  and  round  and  round  the 
garden,  never  losing  sight  of  the  gate — or  any  other  point 
for  that  matter — for  more  than  a  minute.  Each  sound 
of  the  church  clock  striking  a  few  streets  away  would  have 
brought  her  young  heart  thumping  into  her  throat. 

But  a  child  has  no  watch,  no  words  out  of  which  to 
build  hopes  and  fears  and  reasons,  arguments  battling 
against  anguish  which  grows — palliations,  excuses.  Robin 
could  only  wait  in  the  midst  of  a  slow  dark,  rising  tide  of 


128  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

something  she  had  no  name  for.  This  slow  rising  of  an 
engulfing  flood  she  felt  when  pins  and  needles  began  to 
take  possession  of  her  feet,  when  her  legs  ached,  and  her 
eyes  felt  as  if  they  had  grown  big  and  tightly  strained. 
Donal !  Donal !  Donal ! 

Who  knows  but  that  some  echo  of  the  terror  against 
which  she  had  fought  and  screamed  on  the  night  when  she 
had  lain  alone  in  the  dark  in  her  cradle  and  Feather  had 
hid  her  head  under  the  pillow — came  back  and  closed 
slowly  around  and  over  her,  filling  her  inarticulate  being 
with  panic  which  at  last  reached  its  unbearable  height? 
She  had  not  really  stood  waiting  the  entire  morning,  but 
she  was  young  enough  to  think  that  she  had  and  that  at 
any  moment  Anne  might  come  and  take  her  away.  He 
had  not  come  running — he  had  not  come  laughing — he 
had  not  come  with  his  plaid  swinging  and  his  feather 
standing  high !  There  came  a  moment  when  her  strained 
eyes  no  longer  seemed  to  see  clearly !  Something  like  a 
big  lump  crawled  up  into  her  throat !  Something  of  the 
same  sort  happened  the  day  she  had  burst  into  a  wail  of 
loneliness  and  Andrews  had  pinched  her.  Panic  seized 
her ;  she  clutched  the  breast  of  her  rose-coloured  frock  and 
panic-driven  turned  and  fled  into  a  thick  clump  of  bushes 
where  there  was  no  path  and  where  even  Donal  had  never 
pierced. 

"That  child  has  run  away  at  last,"  the  distant  nurse 
remarked,  "I'd  like  to  find  out  what  she  was  waiting  for." 


The  shrubs  were  part  of  the  enclosing  planting  of  the 
Gardens.  The  children  who  came  to  play  on  the  grass 
and  paths  felt  as  if  they  formed  a  sort  of  forest.  Because 
of  this,  Robin  had  made  her  frantic  dash  to  their  shelter. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  129 

No  one  would  come — no  one  would  see  her — no  one  would 
hear  her,  beneath  them  it  was  almost  dark.  Bereft, 
broken  and  betrayed,  a  little  mad  thing,  she  pushed  her 
way  into  their  shadow  and  threw  herself  face  downward, 
a  small,  writhing,  rose-coloured  heap,  upon  the  damp 
mould.  She  could  not  have  explained  what  she  was  doing 
or  why  she  had  given  up  all,  as  if  some  tidal  wave  had 
overwhelmed  her.  Suddenly  she  knew  that  all  her  new 
world  had  gone — forever  and  ever.  As  it  had  come  so  it 
had  gone.  As  she  had  not  doubted  the  permanence  of 
its  joy,  so  she  knew  that  the  end  had  come.  Only  the 
wisdom  of  the  occult  would  dare  to  suggest  that  from  her 
child  mate,  squaring  his  sturdy  young  shoulders  against 
the  world  as  the  flying  train  sped  on  its  way,  some  wave  of 
desperate,  inchoate  thinking  rushed  backward.  There  was 
nothing  more.  He  would  not  come  back  running.  He 
was  gone! 

There  was  no  Andrews  to  hear.  Hidden  in  the  shadow 
under  the  shrubs,  the  rattle  and  roar  of  the  street  outside 
the  railing  drowned  her  mad  little  cries.  All  she  had 
never  done  before,  she  did  then.  Her  hands  beat  on  the 
damp  mould  and  tore  at  it — her  small  feet  beat  it  and 
dug  into  it.  She  cried,  she  sobbed;  the  big  lump  in  her 
throat  almost  strangled  her — she  writhed  and  did  not 
know  she  was  writhing.  Her  tears  pouring  forth  wet  her 
hair,  her  face,  her  dress.  She  did  not  cry  out,  "Donal ! 
Donal!"  because  he  was  nowhere — nowhere.  If  Andrews 
had  seen  her  she  would  have  said  she  was  "in  a  tantrum." 
But  she  was  not.  The  world  had  been  torn  away. 

A  long  time  afterwards,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  she  crawled 
out  from  under  the  shrubs,  carrying  her  pretty  flopping 
hat  in  her  earth-stained  hand.  It  was  not  pretty  any 
more.  She  had  been  lying  on  it  and  it  was  crushed  and 
bent.  She  crept  slowly  round  the  curve  to  Anne. 


130  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Seeing  her,  Anne  sprang  to  her  feet.  The  rose  was 
a  piteous  thing  beaten  to  earth  by  a  storm.  The  child's 
face  was  swollen  and  stained,  her  hair  was  tangled  and 
damp  and  there  were  dark  marks  of  mould  on  her  dress, 
her  hat,  her  hands,  her  white  cheeks ;  her  white  shoes  were 
earth-stained  also,  and  the  feet  in  the  rose-coloured  socks 
dragged  themselves  heavily — slowly. 

"My  gracious !"  the  young  woman  almost  shrieked. 
"What's  happened !  Where  hare  you  been  ?  Did  you  fall 
down  ?  Ah,  my  good  gracious  !  Mercy  me !" 

Eobin  caught  her  breath  but  did  not  say  a  word. 

"You  fell  down  on  a  flower  bed  where  they'd  been  water 
ing  the  plants !"  almost  wept  Anne.  "You  must  have. 
There  isn't  that  much  dirt  anywhere  else  in  the  Gardens." 

And  when  she  took  her  charge  home  that  was  the  story 
she  told  Andrews.  Out  of  Eobin  she  could  get  nothing, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  have  an  explanation. 

The  truth,  of  which  she  knew  nothing,  was  but  the  story 
of  a  child's  awful  dismay  and  a  child's  woe  at  one  of  Life's 
first  betrayals.  It  would  be  left  behind  by  the  days  which 
came  and  went — it  would  pass — as  all  things  pass  but  the 
everlasting  hills — but  in  this  way  it  was  that  it  came  and 
wrote  itself  upon  the  tablets  of  a  child's  day. 


CHAPTER  XI 

t(f"  |  ^  HE  child's  always  been  well,  ma'am,"  Andrews 
was  standing,  the  image  of  exact  correctness,  in 

•*•  her  mistress'  bedroom,  while  Feather  lay  in  bed 
with  her  breakfast  on  a  convenient  and  decorative  little 
table.  "It's  been  a  thing  I've  prided  myself  on.  But  I 
should  say  she  isn't  well  now." 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  only  natural  that  she  should  begin 
sometime,"  remarked  Feather.  "They  always  do,  of 
course.  I  remember  we  all  had  things  when  we  were 
children.  What  does  the  doctor  say?  I  hope  it  isn't  the 
measles,  or  the  beginning  of  anything  worse  ?" 

"JSTo,  ma'am,  it  isn't.  It's  nothing  like  a  child's  disease. 
I  could  have  managed  that.  There's  good  private  nursing 
homes  for  them  in  these  days.  Everything  taken  care  of 
exactly  as  it  should  be  and  no  trouble  of  disinfecting  and 
isolating  for  the  family.  I  know  what  you'd  have  wished 
to  have  done,  ma'am." 

"You  do  know  your  business,  Andrews,"  was  Feather's 
amiable  comment. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  from  Andrews.  "Infectious  things 
are  easy  managed  if  they^re  taken  away  quick.  But  the 
doctor  said  you  must  be  spoken  to  because  perhaps  a 
change  was  needed." 

"You  could  take  her  to  Eamsgate  or  somewhere  bracing," 
said  Feather.  "But  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"He  seemed  puzzled,  ma'am.  That's  what  struck  me. 
When  I  told  him  about  her  not  eating — and  lying  awake 
crying  all  night — to  judge  from  her  looks  in  the  morning 

33J 


132  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

• — and  getting  thin  and  pale — he  examined  her  very  careful 
and  he  looked  queer  and  he  said,  'This  child  hasn't  had  a 
shock  of  any  kind,  has  she?  This  looks  like  what  we 
should  call  shock — if  she  were  older'." 

Feather  laughed. 

"How  could  a  baby  like  that  have  a  shock  ?" 

"That's  what  I  thought  myself,  ma'am,"  answered 
Andrews.  "A  child  that's  had  her  hours  regular  and  is 
fed  and  bathed  and  sleeps  by  the  clock,  and  goes  out  and 
plays  by  herself  in  the  Gardens,  well  watched  over,  hasn't 
any  chance  to  get  shocks.  I  told  him  so  and  he  sat  still 
and  watched  her  quite  curious,  and  then  he  said  very  slow : 
'Sometimes  little  children  are  a  good  deal  shaken  up  by 
a  fall  when  they  are  playing.  Do  you  remember  any 
chance  fall  when  she  cried  a  good  deal  ?' " 

"But  you  didn't,  of  course,"  said  Feather. 

"No,  ma'am,  I  didn't.  I  keep  my  eye  on  her  pretty 
strict  and  shouldn't  encourage  wild  running  or  playing.  I 
don't  let  her  play  with  other  children.  And  she's  not  one 
of  those  stumbling,  falling  children.  I  told  him  the  only 
fall  I  ever  knew  of  her  having  was  a  bit  of  a  slip  on  a  soft 
flower  bed  that  had  just  been  watered — to  judge  from  the 
state  her  clothes  were  in.  She  had  cried  because  she's 
not  used  to  such  things,  and  I  think  she  was  frightened. 
But  there  wasn't  a  scratch  or  a  shadow  of  a  bruise  on  her. 
Even  that  wouldn't  have  happened  if  I'd  been  with  her. 
It  was  when  I  was  ill  and  my  sister  Anne  took  my  place. 
Anne  thought  at  first  that  she'd  been  playing  with  a  little 
boy  she  had  made  friends  with — but  she  found  out  that 
the  boy  hadn't  come  that  morning " 

"A  boy !"  Andrews  was  sharp  enough  to  detect  a 
new  and  interested  note.  "What  boy  ?" 

"She  wouldn't  have  played  with  any  other  child  if  I'd 
been  there,"  said  Andrews,  "I  was  pretty  sharp  with  Anne 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  133 

about  it.  But  she  said  he  was  an  aristocratic  looking  little 
fellow " 

"Was  he  in  Highland  costume?"  Feather  interrupted. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Anne  excused  herself  by  saying  she 
thought  you  must  know  something  about  him.  She  de 
clares  she  saw  you  come  into  the  Gardens  and  speak  to  his 
Mother  quite  friendly.  That  was  the  day  before  Robin 
fell  and  ruined  her  rose-coloured  smock  and  things.  But 
it  wasn't  through  playing  boisterous  with  the  boy — because 
he  didn't  come  that  morning,  as  I  said,  and  he  never  has 
since." 

Andrews,  on  this,  found  cause  for  being  momentarily 
puzzled  by  the  change  of  expression  in  her  mistress'  face. 
Was  it  an  odd  little  gleam  of  angry  spite  she  saw  ? 

"And  never  has  since,  has  he?"  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless 
said  with  a  half  laugh. 

"Not  once,  ma'am,"  answered  Andrews.  "And  Anne 
thinks  it  queer  the  child  never  seemed  to  look  for  him. 
As  if  she'd  lost  interest.  She  just  droops  and  drags  about 
and  doesn't  try  to  play  at  all." 

"How  much  did  she  play  with  him  ?" 

"Well,  he  was  such  a  fine  little  fellow  and  had  such  a 
respectable,  elderly,  Scotch  looking  woman  in  charge  of 
him  that  Anne  owned  up  that  she  hadn't  thought  there 
was  any  objections  to  them  playing  together.  She  says 
they  were  as  well  behaved  and  quiet  as  children  could 
be."  Andrews  thought  proper  to  further  justify  herself 
by  repeating,  "She  didn't  think  there  could  be  any  ob 
jection." 

"There  couldn't,"  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  remarked.  "I 
do  know  the  boy.  He  is  a  relation  of  Lord  Coombe's." 

"Indeed,  ma'am,"  with  colourless  civility,  "Anne  said 
he  was  a  big  handsome  child." 

Feather  took  a  small  bunch  of  hothouse  grapes  from 


134  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

her  breakfast  tray  and,  after  picking  one  off,  suddenly 
began  to  laugh. 

"Good  Gracious,  Andrews!"  she  said.  "He  was  the 
'shock' !  How  perfectly  ridiculous !  Robin  had,  never 
played  with  a  boy  before  and  she  fell  in  love  with  him. 
The  little  thing's  actually  pining  away  for  him."  She 
dropped  the  grapes  and  gave  herself  up  to  delicate  mirth. 
"He  was  taken  away  and  disappeared.  Perhaps  she 
fainted  and  fell  into  the  wet  flower  bed  and  spoiled  her 
frock,  when  she  first  realized  that  he  wasn't  coming." 

"It  did  happen  that  morning,"  admitted  Andrews, 
smiling  a  little  also.  "It  does  seem  funny.  But  children 
take  to  each  other  in  a  queer  way  now  and  then.  I've 
seen  it  upset  them  dreadful  when  they  were  parted." 

"You  must  tell  the  doctor,"  laughed  Feather.  "Then 
he'll  see  there's  nothing  to  be  anxious  about.  She'll  get 
over  it  in  a  week." 

"It's  five  weeks  since  it  happened,  ma'am,"  remarked 
Andrews,  with  just  a  touch  of  seriousness. 

"Five !  Why,  so  it  must  be !  I  remember  the  day  I 
spoke  to  Mrs.  Muir.  If  she's  that  sort  of  child  you  had 
better  keep  her  away  from  boys.  How  ridiculous !  How 
Lord  Coombe — how  people  will  laugh  when  I  tell  them !" 

She  had  paused  a  second  because — for  that  second — she 
was  not  quite  sure  that  Coombe  would  laugh.  Frequently 
she  was  of  the  opinion  that  he  did  not  laugh  at  things 
when  he  should  have  done  so.  But  she  had  had  a  brief 
furious  moment  when  she  had  realized  that  the  boy  had 
actually  been  whisked  away.  She  remembered  the  clear 
ness  of  the  fine  eyes  which  had  looked  directly  into  hers. 
The  woman  had  been  deciding  then  that  she  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  her — or  even  with  her  child. 

But  the  story  of  Robin  worn  by  a  bereft  nursery  passion 
for  a  little  boy,  whose  mamma  snatched  him  away  as  a 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  135 

brand  from  the  burning,  was  far  too  edifying  not  to  be 
related  to  those  who  would  find  it  delicious. 

It  was  on  the  occasion,  a  night  or  so  later,  of  a  gathering 
at  dinner  of  exactly  the  few  elect  ones,  whose  power  to 
find  it  delicious  was  the  most  highly  developed,  that  she 
related  it.  It  was  a  very  little  dinner — only  four  people. 
One  was  the  long  thin  young  man,  with  the  good  looking 
narrow  face  and  dark  eyes  peering  through  a  pince  nez — 
the  one  who  had  said  that  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  "got  her 
wondrous  clothes  from  Helene"  but  that  he  couldn't.  His 
name  was  Harrowby.  Another  was  the  Starling  who  was 
a  Miss  March  who  had,  some  years  earlier,  led  the  van  of 
the  girls  who  prostrated  their  relatives  by  becoming  what 
was  then  called  "emancipated";  the  sign  thereof  being  the 
demanding  of  latchkeys  and  the  setting  up  of  bachelor 
apartments.  The  relatives  had  astonishingly  settled  down, 
with  the  unmoved  passage  of  time,  and  more  modern 
emancipation  had  so  far  left  latchkeys  and  bachelor  apart 
ments  behind  it  that  they  began  to  seem  almost  old- 
fogeyish.  Clara  March,  however,  had  progressed  with  her 
day.  The  third  diner  was  an  adored  young  actor  with  a 
low,  veiled  voice  which,  combining  itself  with  almond  eyes 
and  a  sentimental  and  emotional  curve  of  cheek  and  chin, 
made  the  most  commonplace  "lines"  sound  yearningly  im 
passioned.  He  was  not  impassioned  at  all — merely  fond 
of  his  pleasures  and  comforts  in  a  way  which  would  end 
by  his  becoming  stout.  At  present  his  figure  was  perfect 
— exactly  the  thing  for  the  uniforms  of  royal  persons  of 
Euritania  and  places  of  that  ilk — and  the  name  by  which 
programmes  presented  him  was  Gerald  Vesey. 

Feather's  house  pleased  him  and  she  herself  liked  being 
spoken  to  in  the  veiled  voice  and  gazed  at  by  the  almond 
eyes,  as  though  insuperable  obstacles  alone  prevented  soul- 
stirring  things  from  being  said.  That  she  knew  this  was 


136  THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

not  true  did  not  interfere  with  her  liking  it.  Besides  he 
adored  and  understood  her  clothes. 

Over  coffee  in  the  drawing-room,  Coombe  joined  them. 
He  had  not  known  of  the  little  dinner  and  arrived  just 
as  Feather  was  on  the  point  of  beginning  her  story. 

"You  are  just  in  time/'  she  greeted  him,  "I  was  going 
to  tell  them  something  to  make  them  laugh." 

"Will  it  make  me  laugh?"  he  inquired. 

"It  ought  to.  Eobin  is  in  love.  She  is  five  years  old 
and  she  has  been  deserted,  and  Andrews  came  to  tell  me 
that  she  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep.  The  doctor  says  she 
has  had  a  shock." 

Coombe  did  not  join  in  the  ripple  of  amused  laughter 
but,  as  he  took  his  cup  of  coffee,  he  looked  interested. 

Harrowby  was  interested  too.  His  dark  eyes  quite 
gleamed. 

"I  suppose  she  is  in  bed  by  now,"  he  said.  "If  it  were 
not  so  late,  I  should  beg  you  to  have  her  brought  down  so 
that  we  might  have  a  look  at  her.  I'm  by  way  of  taking 
a  psychological  interest." 

"I'm  psychological  myself,"  said  the  Starling.  "But 
what  do  you  mean,  Feather  ?  Are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"Andrews  is,"  Feather  answered.  "She  could  manage 
measles  but  she  could  not  be  responsible  for  shock.  But 
she  didn't  find  out  about  the  love  affair.  I  found  that 
out — by  mere  chance.  Do  you  remember  the  day  we 
got  out  of  the  victoria  and  went  into  the  Gardens, 
Starling?" 

"The  time  you  spoke  to  Mrs.  Muir?" 

Coombe  turned  slightly  towards  them. 

Feather  nodded,  with  a  lightly  significant  air. 

"It  was  her  boy,"  she  said,  and  then  she  laughed  and 
nodded  at  Coombe. 

"He  was  quite  as  handsome  as  you  said  he  was.     No 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  137 

wonder  poor  Robin  fell  prostrate.  He  ought  to  be  chained 
and  muzzled  by  law  when  he  grows  up." 

"But  so  ought  Robin,"  threw  in  the  Starling  in  her 
brusque,  young  mannish  way. 

"But  Robin's  only  a  girl  and  she's  not  a  parti/'  laughed 
Feather.  Her  eyes,  lifted  to  Coombe's,  held  a  sort  of 
childlike  malice.  "After  his  mother  knew  she  was  Miss 
Gareth-Lawless,  he  was  not  allowed  to  play  in  the  Gardens 
again.  Did  she  take  him  back  to  Scotland?" 

"They  went  back  to  Scotland,"  answered  Coombe,  "and, 
of  course,  the  boy  was  not  left  behind." 

"Have  you  a  child  five  years  old?"  asked  Vesey  in  his 
low  voice  of  Feather.  "You  ?" 

"It  seems  absurd  to  me"  said  Feather,  "I  never  quite 
believe  in  her." 

"I  don't,"  said  Vesey.     "She's  impossible." 

"Robin  is  a  stimulating  name,"  put  in  Harrowby.  "Is 
it  too  late  to  let  us  see  her?  If  she's  such  a  beauty  as 
Starling  hints,  she  ought  to  be  looked  at." 

Feather  actually  touched  the  bell  by  the  fireplace.  A 
sudden  caprice  moved  her.  The  love  story  had  not  gone 
off  quite  as  well  as  she  had  thought  it  would.  And,  after 
all,  the  child  was  pretty  enough  to  show  off.  She  knew 
nothing  in  particular  about  her  daughter's  hours,  but,  if 
she  was  asleep,  she  could  be  wakened. 

"Tell  Andrews,"  she  said  to  the  footman  when  he  ap 
peared,"!  wish  Miss  Robin  to  be  brought  downstairs." 

"They  usually  go  to  bed  at  seven,  I  believe,"  remarked 
Coombe,  "but,  of  course,  I  am  not  an  authority." 

Robin  was  not  asleep  though  she  had  long  been  in  bed. 
Because  she  kept  her  eyes  shut  Andrews  had  been  deceived 
into  carrying  on  a  conversation  with  her  sister  Anne,  who 
had  come  to  see  her.  Robin  had  been  lying  listening  to  it. 
She  had  begun  to  listen  because  they  had  been  talking 


138  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

about  the  day  she  had  spoiled  her  rose-coloured  smock 
and  they  had  ended  by  being  very  frank  about  other 
things. 

"As  sure  as  you  saw  her  speak  to  the  boy's  mother  the 
day  before,  just  so  sure  she  whisked  him  back  to  Scotland 
the  next  morning/'  said  Andrews.  "She's  one  of  the  kind 
that's  particular.  Lord  Coombe's  the  reason.  She  does 
not  want  her  boy  to  see  or  speak  to  him,  if  it  can  be  helped. 
She  won't  have  it — and  when  she  found  out " 

"Is  Lord  Coombe  as  bad  as  they  say  ?"  put  in  Anne  with 
bated  breath.  "He  must  be  pretty  bad  if  a  boy  that's 
eight  years  old  has  to  be  kept  out  of  sight  and  sound 
of  him." 

So  it  was  Lord  Coombe  who  had  somehow  done  it.  He 
had  made  Donal's  mother  take  him  away.  It  was  Lord 
Coombe.  Who  was  Lord  Coombe?  It  was  because  he 
was  wicked  that  Donal's  mother  would  not  let  him  play 
with  her — because  he  was  wicked.  All  at  once  there  came 
to  her  a  memory  of  having  heard  his  name  before.  She 
had  heard  it  several  times  in  the  basement  Servants' 
Hall  and,  though  she  had  not  understood  what  was  said 
about  him,  she  had  felt  the  atmosphere  of  cynical  dis 
approval  of  something.  They  had  said  "him"  and  "her" 
as  if  he  somehow  belonged  to  the  house.  On  one  occasion 
he  had  been  "high"  in  the  manner  of  some  reproof  to 
Jennings,  who,  being  enraged,  freely  expressed  his  opin 
ions  of  his  lordship's  character  and  general  reputation. 
The  impression  made  on  Eobin  then  had  been  that  he 
was  a  person  to  be  condemned  severely.  That  the  con 
demnation  was  the  mere  outcome  of  the  temper  of  an 
impudent  young  footman  had  not  conveyed  itself  to  her, 
and  it  was  the  impression  which  came  back  to  her  now 
with  a  new  significance.  He  was  the  cause — not  Donal, 
not  Donal's  Mother — but  this  man  who  was  so  bad  that 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  139 

servants  were  angry  because  he  was  somehow  connected 
with  the  house. 

"As  to  his  badness/'  she  heard  Andrews  answer,  "there's 
some  that  can't  say  enough  against  him.  Badness  is 
smart  these  days.  He's  bad  enough  for  the  boy's  mother 
to  take  him  away  from.  It's  what  he  is  in  this  house 
that  does  it.  She  won't  have  her  boy  playing  with  a  child 
like  Robin." 

Then — even  as  there  flashed  upon  her  bewilderment 
this  strange  revelation  of  her  own  unfitness  for  association 
with  boys  whose  mothers  took  care  of  them — Jennings, 
the  young  footman,  came  to  the  door. 

"Is  she  awake,  Miss  Andrews?"  he  said,  looking  greatly 
edified  by  Andrews'  astonished  countenance. 

"What  on  earth — ?"  began  Andrews. 

"If  she  is,"  Jennings  winked  humorously,  "she's  to  be 
dressed  up  and  taken  down  to  the  drawing-room  to  be 
shown  off.  I  don't  know  whether  it's  Coombe's  idea  or 
not.  He's  there." 

Eobin's  eyes  flew  wide  open.  She  forgot  to  keep  them 
shut.  She  was  to  go  downstairs!  "Who  wanted  her — 
who? 

Andrews  had  quite  gasped. 

"Here's  a  new  break  out !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  never 
heard  such  a  thing  in  my  life.  She's  been  in  bed  over 
two  hours.  I'd  like  to  know " 

She  paused  here  because  her  glance  at  the  bed  met  the 
dark  liquidity  of  eyes  wide  open.  She  got  up  and  walked 
across  the  room. 

"You  are  awake !"  she  said.  "You  look  as  if  you  hadn't 
been  asleep  at  all.  You're  to  get  up  and  have  your  frock 
put  on.  The  Lady  Downstairs  wants  you  in  the  drawing- 
room." 

Two  months  earlier  such  a  piece  of  information  would 


140  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

have  awakened  in  the  child  a  delirium  of  delight.  But 
now  her  vitality  was  lowered  because  her  previously  un- 
awakened  little  soul  had  soared  so  high  and  been  so  dashed 
down  to  cruel  earth  again.  The  brilliancy  of  the  Lady 
Downstairs  had  been  dimmed  as  a  candle  is  dimmed  by 
the  light  of  the  sun. 

She  felt  only  a  vague  wonder  as  she  did  as  Andrews 
told  her — wonder  at  the  strangeness  of  getting  up  to  be 
dressed,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 

"It's  just  the  kind  of  thing  that  would  happen  in  a  house 
like  this/'  grumbled  Andrews,  as  she  put  on  her  frock. 
"Just  anything  that  comes  into  their  heads  they  think 
they've  a  right  to  do.  I  suppose  they  have,  too.  If  you're 
rich  and  aristocratic  enough  to  have  your  own  way,  why 
not  take  it  ?  I  would  myself." 

The  big  silk  curls,  all  in  a  heap,  fell  almost  to  the 
child's  hips.  The  frock  Andrews  chose  for  her  was  a 
fairy  thing. 

'She  is  a  bit  thin,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  girl  Anne. 
"But  it  points  her  little  face  and  makes  her  eyes  look 
bigger." 

"If  her  mother's  got  a  Marquis,  I  wonder  what  she'll 
get,"  said  Andrews.  "She's  got  a  lot  before  her :  this  one !" 

When  the  child  entered  the  drawing-room,  Andrews 
made  her  go  in  alone,  while  she  held  herself,  properly,  a 
few  paces  back  like  a  lady  in  waiting.  The  room  was 
brilliantly  lighted  and  seemed  full  of  colour  and  people 
who  were  laughing.  There  were  pretty  things  crowding 
each  other  everywhere,  and  there  were  flowers  on  all  sides. 
The  Lady  Downstairs,  in  a  sheathlike  sparkling  dress,  and 
only  a  glittering  strap  seeming  to  hold  it  on  over  her  fair 
undressed  shoulders,  was  talking  to  a  tall  thin  man  stand 
ing  before  the  fireplace  with  a  gold  cup  of  coffee  in  his 
hand. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  141 

As  the  little  thing  strayed  in,  with  her  rather  rigid 
attendant  behind  her,  suddenly  the  laughing  ceased  and 
everybody  involuntarily  drew  a  half  startled  breath — 
everybody  but  the  tall  thin  man,  who  quietly  turned  and 
set  his  coffee  cup  down  on  the  mantel  piece  behind  him. 

"Is  this  what  you  have  been  keeping  up  your  sleeve  I" 
said  Harrowby,  settling  his  pince  nez. 

"I  told  you !"  said  the  Starling. 

"You  couldn't  tell  us,"  Vesey's  veiled  voice  dropped 
in  softly.  "It  must  be  seen  to  be  believed.  But  still — " 
aside  to  Feather,  "I  don't  believe  it." 

"Enter,  my  only  child!"  said  Feather.  "Come  here, 
Robin.  Come  to  your  mother." 

Now  was  the  time !  Robin  went  to  her  and  took  hold 
of  a  very  small  piece  of  her  sparkling  dress. 

"Are  you  my  Mother?"  she  said.  And  then  everybody 
burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  Feather  with  the  rest. 

"She  calls  me  the  Lady  Downstairs/'  she  said.  "I 
really  believe  she  doesn't  know.  She's  rather  a  stupid 
little  thing." 

"Amazing  lack  of  filial  affection,"  said  Lord  Coombe. 

He  was  not  laughing  like  the  rest  and  he  was  looking 
down  at  Robin.  She  thought  him  ugly  and  wicked  looking. 
Vesey  and  Harrowby  were  beautiful  by  contrast.  Before 
she  knew  who  he  was,  she  disliked  him.  She  looked  at  him 
askance  under  her  eyelashes,  and  he  saw  her  do  it  before 
her  mother  spoke  his  name,  taking  her  by  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  and  leading  her  to  him. 

"Come  and  let  Lord  Coombe  look  at  you,"  she  said. 
So  it  revealed  itself  to  her  that  it  was  he — this  ugly  one— 
who  had  done  it,  and  hatred  surged  up  in  her  soul.  It 
was  actually  in  the  eyes  she  raised  to  his  face,  and  Coombe 
saw  it  as  he  had  seen  the  sidelong  glance  and  he  wondered 
what  it  meant. 


142  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Shake  hands  with  Lord  Coombe,"  Feather  instructed. 

"If  you  can  make  a  curtsey,  make  one/'  She  turned  her 
head  over  her  shoulders,  "Have  you  taught  her  to  curtsey, 
Andrews  ?" 

But  Andrews  had  not  and  secretly  lost  temper  at  finding 
herself  made  to  figure  as  a  nurse  who  had  been  capable 
of  omission.  Outwardly  she  preserved  rigid  calm. 

"I'm.  afraid  not,  ma'am.     I  will  at  once,  if  you  wish  it." 

Coombe  was  watching  the  inner  abhorrence  in  the  little 
face.  Eobin  had  put  her  hand  behind  her  back — she  who 
had  never  disobeyed  since  she  was  born !  She  had  crossed 
a  line  of  development  when  she  had  seen  glimpses  of  the 
new  world  through  Donal's  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing,  you  silly  little  thing,"  Feather 
reproved  her.  "Shake  hands  with  Lord  Coombe." 

Eobin  shook  her  head  fiercely. 

"No!  No!  No!  No!"  she  protested. 

Feather  was  disgusted.  This  was  not  the  kind  of  child 
to  display. 

"Eude  little  thing!  Andrews,  come  and  make  her  do 
it — or  take  her  upstairs,"  she  said. 

Coombe  took  his  gold  coffee  cup  from  the  mantel. 

"She  regards  me  with  marked  antipathy,  as  she  did  when 
she  first  saw  me,"  he  summed  the  matter  up.  "Children 
and  animals  don't  hate  one  without  reason.  It  is  some 
remote  iniquity  in  my  character  which  the  rest  of  us  have 
not  yet  detected."  To  Eobin  he  said,  "I  do  not  want  to 
shake  hands  with  you  if  you  object.  I  prefer  to  drink  my 
coffee  out  of  this  beautiful  cup." 

But  Andrews  was  seething.  Having  no  conscience  what 
ever,  she  had  instead  the  pride  of  a  female  devil  in  her 
perfection  in  her  professional  duties.  That  the  child  she 
was  responsible  for  should  stamp  her  with  ignominious 
fourth-ratedness  by  conducting  herself  with  as  small  grace 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  143 

as  an  infant  costermonger  was  more  than  her  special  order 
of  flesh  and  blood  could  bear — and  yet  she  must  outwardly 
control  the  flesh  and  blood. 

In  obedience  to  her  mistress'  command,  she  crossed  the 
room  and  bent  down  and  whispered  to  Eobin.  She  in 
tended  that  her  countenance  should  remain  non-committal, 
but,  when  she  lifted  her  head,  she  met  Coombe's  eyes  and 
realized  that  perhaps  it  had  not.  She  added  to  her 
whisper  nursery  instructions  in  a  voice  of  sugar. 

"Be  pretty  mannered,  Miss  Eobin,  my  dear,  and  shake 
hands  with  his  lordship/' 

Each  person  in  the  little  drawing-room  saw  the  queer 
flame  in  the  child-face — Coombe  himself  was  fantastically 
struck  by  the  sudden  thought  that  its  expression  might 
have  been  that  of  an  obstinate  young  martyr  staring  at  the 
stake.  Eobin  shrilled  out  her  words : 

"Andrews  will  pinch  me — Andrews  will  pinch  me !  But 
— No ! — No !"  and  she  kept  her  hand  behind  her  back. 

"Oh,  Miss  Eobin,  you  naughty  child!"  cried  Andrews, 
with  pathos.  "Your  poor  Andrews  that  takes  such  care 
of  you  I" 

"Horrid  little  thing!"  Feather  pettishly  exclaimed. 
"Take  her  upstairs,  Andrews.  She  shall  not  come  down 
again." 

Harrowby,  settling  his  pince  nez  a  little  excitedly  in  the 
spurred  novelty  of  his  interest,  murmured, 

"If  she  doesn't  want  to  go,  she  will  begin  to  shriek. 
This  looks  as  if  she  were  a  little  termagant." 

But  she  did  not  shriek  when  Andrews  led  her  towards 
the  door.  The  ugly  one  with  the  wicked  face  was  the  one 
who  had  done  it.  He  filled  her  with  horror.  To  have 
touched  him  would  have  been  like  touching  some  wild 
beast  of  prey.  That  was  all.  She  went  with  Andrews 
quite  quietly. 


144  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Will  you  shake  hands  with  me?"  said  the  Starling, 
goodnaturedly,  as  she  passed,  "I  hope  she  won't  snub  me/-' 
she  dropped  aside  to  Harrowby. 

Robin  put  out  her  hand  prettily. 

"Shake  mine,"  suggested  Harrowby,  and  she  obeyed  him. 

"And  mine?"  smiled  Vesey,  with  his  best  allure.  She 
gave  him  her  hand,  and,  as  a  result  of  the  allure  probably, 
a  tiny  smile  flickered  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  He 
did  not  look  wicked. 

"I  remain  an  outcast,"  remarked  Coombe,  as  the  door 
closed  behind  the  little  figure. 

"I  detest  an  ill-mannered  child,"  said  Feather.  "She 
ought  to  be  slapped.  We  used  to  be  slapped  if  we  were 
rude." 

"She  said  Andrews  would  pinch  her.  Is  pinching  the 
customary  discipline  ?" 

"It  ought  to  be.  She  deserves  it."  Feather  was  quite 
out  of  temper.  "But  Andrews  is  too  good  to  her.  She 
is  a  perfect  creature  and  conducts  herself  like  a  clock. 
There  has  never  been  the  slightest  trouble  in  the  Nursery. 
You  see  how  the  child  looks — though  her  face  isn't  quite  as 
round  as  it  was."  She  laughed  disagreeably  and  shrugged 
her  white,  undressed  shoulders.  "I  think  it's  a  little 
horrid,  myself — a  child  of  that  age  fretting  herself  thin 
about  a  boy." 


CHAPTEE  XII 

BUT  though  she  had  made  no  protest  on  being  taken 
out  of  the  drawing-room,  Eobin  had  known  that 
what  Andrews'  soft-sounding  whisper  had  prom 
ised  would  take  place  when  she  reached  the  Nursery.  She 
was  too  young  to  feel  more  than  terror  which  had  no 
defense  whatever.  She  had  no  more  defense  against 
Andrews  than  she  had  had  against  the  man  who  had 
robbed  her  of  Donal.  They  were  both  big  and  powerful, 
and  she  was  nothing.  But,  out  of  the  wonders  she  had 
begun  to  know,  there  had  risen  in  her  before  almost  inert 
little  being  a  certain  stirring.  For  a  brief  period  she  had 
learned  happiness  and  love  and  woe,  and,  this  evening, 
inchoate  rebellion  against  an  enemy.  Andrews  led  by  the 
hand  up  the  narrow,  top-story  staircase  something  she  had 
never  led  before.  She  was  quite  unaware  of  this  and,  as 
she  mounted  each  step,  her  temper  mounted  also,  and  it 
was  the  temper  of  an  incensed  personal  vanity  abnormally 
strong  in  this  particular  woman.  When  they  were  inside 
the  Nursery  and  the  door  was  shut,  she  led  Robin  to  the 
middle  of  the  small  and  gloomy  room  and  released  her 
hand. 

"Now,  my  lady,"  she  said.  "Fm  going  to  pay  you  out 
for  disgracing  me  before  everj^body  in  the  drawing-room." 
She  had  taken  the  child  below  stairs  for  a  few  minutes 
before  bringing  her  up  for  the  night.  She  had  stopped 
in  the  kitchen  for  something  she  wanted  for  herself.  She 
laid  her  belongings  on  a  chest  of  drawers  and  turned  about. 

145 


146  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"I'm  going  to  teach  you  a  lesson  you  won't  forget/'  she 
said. 

What  happened  next  turned  the  woman  quite  sick  with 
the  shock  of  amazement.  The  child  had,  in  the  past,  been 
a  soft  puppet.  She  had  been  automatic  obedience  and 
gentleness.  Privately,  Andrews  had  somewhat  looked 
down  on  her  lack  of  spirit,  though  it  had  been  her  own 
best  asset.  The  outbreak  downstairs  had  been  an  ab 
normality. 

And  now  she  stood  before  her  with  hands  clenched,  her 
little  face  wild  with  defiant  rage. 

"I'll  scream !  I'll  scream !  I'll  scream !"  she  shrieked. 
Andrews  actually  heard  herself  gulp;  but  she  sprang  up 
and  forward. 

"You'll  scream!"  she  could  scarcely  believe  her  own 
feelings — not  to  mention  the  evidence  of  her  ears,  "You'll 
scream !" 

The  next  instant  was  more  astonishing  still.  Eobin 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  and  scrambled  like  a  cat.  She 
was  under  the  bed  and  in  the  remotest  corner  against  the 
wall.  She  was  actually  unreachable,  and  she  lay  on  her 
back  kicking  madly,  hammering  her  heels  against  the 
floor  and  uttering  piercing  shrieks.  As  something  had 
seemed  to  let  itself  go  when  she  writhed  under  the  bushes 
in  the  Gardens,  so  did  something  let  go  now.  In  her 
overstrung  little  mind  there  ruled  for  this  moment  the 
feeling  that  if  she  was  to  be  pinched,  she  would  be  pinched 
for  a  reason. 

Andrews  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  bed.  She  had  a  long, 
strong,  thin  arm  and  it  darted  beneath  and  clutched.  But 
it  was  not  long  enough  to  attain  the  corner  where  the 
kicking  and  screaming  was  going  on.  Her  temper  became 
fury  before  her  impotence  and  her  hideous  realization  of 
being  made  ridiculous  by  this  baby  of  six.  Two  floors 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  147 

below  the  afterglow  of  the  little  dinner  was  going  on. 
Suppose  even  far  echoes  of  the  screams  should  be  heard 
and  make  her  more  ridiculous  still.  She  knew  how  they 
would  laugh  and  her  mistress  would  make  some  silly  joke 
about  Robin's  being  too  much  for  her.  Her  fury  rose  so 
high  that  she  had  barely  sense  to  realize  that  she  must  not 
let  herself  go  too  far  when  she  got  hold  of  the  child.  Get 
hold  of  her  she  would  and  pay  her  out — My  word!  She 
would  pay  her  out ! 

"You  little  devil!"  she  said  between  her  teeth,  "Wait 
till  I  get  hold  of  you."  And  Eobin  shrieked  and  ham 
mered  more  insanely  still. 

The  bed  was  rather  a  low  one  and  it  was  difficult  for 
any  one  larger  than  a  child  to  find  room  beneath  it.  The 
correct  and  naturally  rigid  Andrews  lay  fiat  upon  her 
stomach  and  wriggled  herself  partly  under  the  edge.  Just 
far  enough  for  her  long  and  strong  arm,  and  equally  long 
and  strong  clutching  fingers  to  do  their  work.  In  her 
present  state  of  mind,  Andrews  would  have  broken  her 
back  rather  than  not  have  reached  the  creature  who  so 
defied  her.  The  strong  fingers  clenched  a  flying  petticoat 
and  dragged  at  it  fiercely — the  next  moment  they  clutched 
a  frantic  foot,  with  a  power  which  could  not  be  broken 
away  from.  A  jerk  and  a  remorseless  dragging  over  the 
carpet  and  Eobin  was  out  of  the  protecting  darkness  and 
in  the  gas  light  again,  lying  tumbled  and  in  an  untidy, 
torn,  little  heap  on  the  nursery  floor.  Andrews  was  pant 
ing,  but  she  did  not  loose  her  hold  as  she  scrambled, 
without  a  rag  of  professional  dignity,  to  her  feet. 

"My  word !"  she  breathlessly  gave  forth.  "I've  got  you 
now !  I've  got  you  now." 

She  so  looked  that  to  Eobin  she  seemed — like  the  ugly 
man  downstairs — a  sort  of  wicked  wild  beast,  whose  mere 
touch  would  have  been  horror  even  if  it  did  not  hurt. 


148  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

And  the  child  knew  what  was  coming.  She  felt  herself 
dragged  up  from  the  floor  and  also  dragged  between 
Andrews'  knees,  which  felt  bony  and  hard  as  iron.  There 
was  no  getting  away  from  them.  Andrews  had  seated 
herself  firmly  on  a  chair. 

Holding  her  between  the  iron  knees,  she  put  her  large 
hand  over  her  mouth.  It  was  a  hand  large  enough  to 
cover  more  than  her  mouth.  Only  the  panic-stricken  eyes 
seemed  to  flare  wide  and  lustrous  above  it. 

"You'll  scream!"  she  said,  ''You'll  hammer  on  the  floor 
with  your  heels !  You'll  behave  like  a  wildcat — you  that's 
been  like  a  kitten !  You've  never  done  it  before  and  you'll 
never  do  it  again !  If  it  takes  me  three  days,  I'll  make 
you  remember  1" 

And  then  her  hand  dropped — and  her  jaw  dropped,  and 
she  sat  staring  with  a  furious,  sick,  white  face  at  the  open 
door — which  she  had  shut  as  she  came  in.  The  top  floor 
had  always  been  so  safe.  The  Nursery  had  been  her  own 
autocratic  domain.  There  had  been  no  human  creature  to 
whom  it  would  have  occurred  to  interfere.  That  was  it. 
She  had  been  actually  safe. 

Unheard  in  the  midst  of  the  struggle,  the  door  had  been 
opened  without  a  knock.  There  on  the  threshold,  as  stiff 
as  a  ramrod,  and  with  his  hateful  eyes  uncovering  their 
gleam,  Lord  Coombe  was  standing — no  other  than  Lord 
Coombe. 

Having  a  sharp  working  knowledge  of  her  world, 
Andrews  knew  that  it  was  all  up.  He  had  come  upstairs 
deliberately.  She  knew  what  he  had  come  for.  He  was 
as  clever  as  he  was  bad,  and  he  had  seen  something  when 
he  glanced  at  her  in  the  drawing-room.  ISFow  he  had 
heard  and  seen  her  as  she  dragged  Kobin  from  under  the 
bed.  He'd  come  up  for  that — for  some  queer  evil  reason 
of  his  own.  The  promptings  of  a  remote  gutter  training 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  149 

made  her  feel  a  desire  to  use  language  such  as  she  still 
had  wisdom  enough  to  restrain. 

"You  are  a  very  great  fool,  young  woman,"  he  said. 
"You  have  nothing  but  your  character  as  a  nurse  to  live 
on.  A  scene  in  a  police  court  would  ruin  you.  There  is 
a  Society  which  interferes  with  nursery  torture." 

Kobin,  freed  from  the  iron  grasp,  had  slunk  behind  a 
chair.  He  was  there  again. 

Andrews'  body,  automatically  responsive  to  rule  and 
habit,  rose  from  its  seat  and  stood  before  this  member  of 
a  class  which  required  an  upright  position.  She  knew 
better  than  to  attempt  to  excuse  or  explain.  She  had 
heard  about  the  Society  and  she  knew  publicity  would 
spell  ruin  and  starvation.  She  had  got  herself  into  an 
appalling  mess.  Being  caught — there  you  were.  But  that 
this  evil-reputationed  swell  should  actually  have  been 
awakened  by  some  whim  to  notice  and  follow  her  up  was 
"past  her,"  as  she  would  have  put  it. 

"You  were  going  to  pinch  her — by  instalments,  I  sup 
pose,"  he  said.  "You  inferred  that  it  might  last  three 
days.  When  she  said  you  would — in  the  drawing-room — 
it  occurred  to  me  to  look  into  it.  What  are  your  wages  ?" 

"Thirty  pounds  a  year,  my  lord." 

"Go  tomorrow  morning  to  Benby,  who  engaged  you  for 
Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless.  He  will  be  at  his  office  by  nine  and 
will  pay  you  what  is  owed  to  you — and  a  month's  wages  in 
lieu  of  notice." 

"The  mistress "  began  Andrews. 

"I  have  spoken  to  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless."  It  was  a  lie, 
serenely  told.  Feather  was  doing  a  new  skirt  dance  in  the 
drawing-room.  "She  is  engaged.  Pack  your  box.  Jen 
nings  will  call  a  cab." 

It  was  the  utter  idiotic  hopelessness  of  saying  anything 
to  him  which  finished  her.  You  might  as  well  talk  to  a 


150  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

front  door  or  a  street  lamp.  Any  silly  thing  you  might 
try  wouldn't  even  reach  his  ears.  He  had  no  ears  for  you. 
You  didn't  matter  enough. 

"Shall  I  leave  her  here — as  she  is?"  she  said,  denoting 
Eobin. 

"Undress  her  and  put  her  to  bed  before  you  pack  your 
box,"  absolutely  certain,  fine  cold  modulations  in  the  voice, 
which  stood  for  his  special  plane  of  breeding,  had  their 
effect  on  her  grovelling  though  raging  soul.  He  was  so 
exactly  what  he  was  and  what  she  was  not  and  could  never 
attain.  "I  will  stay  here  while  you  do  it.  Then  go." 

No  vocabulary  of  the  Servants'  Hall  could  have  encom 
passed  the  fine  phrase  grand  seigneur,  but,  when  Mrs. 
Blayne  and  the  rest  talked  of  him  in  their  least  resentful 
and  more  amiable  moods,  they  unconsciously  made  efforts 
to  express  the  quality  in  him  which  these  two  words  con 
vey.  He  had  ways  of  his  own.  Men  that  paid  a  pretty 
woman's  bills  and  kept  her  going  in  luxury,  Jennings  and 
Mrs.  Blayne  and  the  others  knew  something  about.  They 
sometimes  began  well  enough  but,  as  time  went  on,  they 
forgot  themselves  and  got  into  the  way  of  being  familiar 
and  showing  they  realized  that  they  paid  for  things  and 
had  their  rights.  Most  of  them  began  to  be  almost  like 
husbands — speak  slighting  and  sharp  and  be  a  bit  stiff 
about  accounts — even  before  servants.  They  ran  in  and 
out  or — after  a  while — began  to  stay  away  and  not  show 
up  for  weeks.  "He"  was  different — so  different  that  it 
was  queer.  Queer  it  certainly  was  that  he  really  came  to 
the  place  very  seldom.  Wherever  they  met,  it  didn't 
noticeably  often  happen  in  the  slice  of  a  house.  He  came 
as  if  he  were  a  visitor.  He  took  no  liberties.  Everything 
was  punctiliously  referred  to  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless.  Mr. 
Benby,  who  did  everything,  conducted  himself  outwardly 
as  if  he  were  a  sort  of  man  of  business  in  Mrs.  Gareth^ 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  151 

Lawless'  employ.  It  was  open  to  the  lenient  to  believe 
that  she  depended  on  some  mysterious  private  income. 
There  were  people  who  preferred  to  try  to  believe  this,  but 
there  were  those  who,  in  some  occult  way,  knew  exactly 
where  her  income  came  from.  There  were,  in  fact, 
hypercritical  persons  who  did  not  know  or  notice  her,  but 
she  had  quite  an  entertaining,  smart  circle  which  neither 
suspicions  nor  beliefs  prevented  from  placing  her  in  their 
visiting  lists.  Coombe  did  keep  it  up  in  the  most  perfect 
manner,  some  of  them  said  admiringly  among  themselves. 
He  showed  extraordinarily  perfect  taste.  Many  fashion 
able  open  secrets,  accepted  by  a  brilliant  world,  were  not 
half  so  fastidiously  managed.  Andrews  knew  he  had  un 
swervingly  lied  when  he  said  he  had  "spoken  to  Mrs. 
Gareth-Lawless."  But  he  never  failed  to  place  her  in  the 
position  of  authority.  That  he  should  have  presented 
himself  on  the  nursery  floor  was  amazingly  abnormal 
enough  to  mean  some  state  of  mind  unregulated  by  all 
natural  rules.  "Him,"  Andrews  thought,  "that  never  steps 
out  of  a  visitor's  place  in  the  drawing-room  turning  up 
on  the  third  floor  without  a  word !"  One  thing  she  knew, 
and  that  came  first.  Behind  all  the  polite  show  he  was 
the  head  of  everything.  And  he  was  one  that  you'd  better 
not  give  back  a  sound  to  if  you  knew  what  was  good  for 
yourself.  "Whatever  people  said  against  his  character,  he 
was  one  of  the  grand  and  high  ones.  A  word  from  him — 
ever  so  quiet — and  you'd  be  done  for. 

She  was  shaking  with  fear  inwardly,  but  she  undressed 
Robin  and  put  her  in  bed,  laying  everything  away  and 
making  things  tidy  for  the  night. 

"This  is  the  Night  Nursery,  I  suppose,"  Coombe  had 
said  when  she  began.  He  put  up  his  glasses  and  looked 
the  uninviting  little  room  over.  He  scrutinized  it  and 
she  wondered  what  his  opinion  of  it  might  be 


152  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Yes,  my  lord.  The  Day  Nursery  is  through  that  door." 
He  walked  through  the  door  in  question  and  she  could  see 
that  he  moved  slowly  about  it,  examining  the  few  pieces 
of  furniture  curiously,  still  with  his  glass  in  his  eye.  She 
had  finished  undressing  Bobin  and  had  put  her  in  her  bed 
before  he  came  back  into  the  sleeping  apartment.  By 
that  time,  exhausted  by  the  unknown  tempest  she  had 
passed  through,  the  child  had  dropped  asleep  in  spite  of 
herself.  She  was  too  tired  to  remember  that  her  enemy 
was  in  the  next  room. 

"I  have  seen  the  child  with  you  several  times  when  you 
have  not  been  aware  of  it,"  Coombe  said  to  her  before 
he  went  downstairs.  "She  has  evidently  been  well  taken 
care  of  as  far  as  her  body  is  concerned.  If  you  were  not 
venomous — if  you  had  merely  struck  her,  when  you  lost 
your  temper,  you  might  have  had  another  trial.  I  know 
nothing  about  children,  but  I  know  something  about  the 
devil,  and  if  ever  the  devil  was  in  a  woman's  face  and 
voice  the  devil  was  in  yours  when  you  dragged  the  little 
creature  from  under  the  bed.  If  you  had  dared,  you  would 
have  killed  her.  Look  after  that  temper,  young  woman. 
Benby  shall  keep  an  eye  on  you  if  you  take  another  place 
as  nurse,  and  I  shall  know  where  you  are." 

"My  lord !"  Andrews  gasped.  "You  wouldn't  overlook  a 
woman  and  take  her  living  from  her  and  send  her  to 
starvation !" 

"I  would  take  her  living  from  her  and  send  her  to 
starvation  without  a  shadow  of  compunction,"  was  the 
reply  made  in  the  fine  gentleman's  cultivated  voice,  " — if 
she  were  capable  of  what  you  were  capable  of  tonight. 
You  are,  I  judge,  about  forty,  and,  though  you  are  lean, 
you  are  a  powerful  woman ;  the  child  is,  I  believe,  barely 
six."  And  then,  looking  down  at  her  through  his  glass, 
he  added — to  her  quite  shuddering  astonishment — in  a 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  153 

tone  whose  very  softness  made  it  really  awful  to  her, 
"Damn  you !  Damn  you !" 

"I'll — I  swear  I'll  never  let  myself  go  again,  my  lord !" 
the  woman  broke  out  devoutly. 

"I  don't  think  you  will.  It  would  cost  you  too  much/' 
he  said. 

Then  he  went  down  the  steep,  crooked  little  staircase 
quite  soundlessly  and  Andrews,  rather  white  and  breath 
less,  went  and  packed  her  trunk.  Robin — tired  baby  as 
she  was — slept  warm  and  deeply. 


IT  WAS  no  custom  of  his  to  outstay  other  people;  in 
fact,  he  usually  went  away  comparatively  early. 
Feather  could  not  imagine  what  his  reason  could  be, 
but  she  was  sure  there  was  a  reason.  She  was  often  dis 
turbed  by  his  reasons,  and  found  it  difficult  to  adjust 
herself  to  them.  How — even  if  one  had  a  logically  bril 
liant  mind — could  one  calculate  on  a  male  being,  who 
seemed  not  exactly  to  belong  to  the  race  of  men. 

As  a  result  of  the  skirt  dancing,  the  furniture  of  the 
empty  drawing-room  was  a  little  scattered  and  untidy,  but 
Feather  had  found  a  suitable  corner  among  cushions  on 
a  sofa,  after  everyone  had  gone  leaving  Coombe  alone 
with  her.  She  wished  he  would  sit  down,  but  he  preferred 
to  stand  in  his  still,  uncomfortable  way. 

"I  know  you  are  going  to  tell  me  something,"  she  broke 
the  silence. 

"I  am.  When  I  went  out  of  the  room,  I  did  not  drive 
round  to  my  club  as  I  said  I  found  myself  obliged  to.  I 
went  upstairs  to  the  third  floor — to  the  Nursery/' 

Feather  sat  quite  upright. 

"You  went  up  to  the  Nursery !"  If  this  was  the  reason 
for  his  staying,  what  on  earth  had  he  come  upon  in  the 
region  of  the  third  floor,  and  how  ridiculously  unlike  him 
to  allow  himself  to  interfere.  Could  it  be  Andrews  and 
Jennings?  Surely  Andrews  was  too  old. — This  passed 
across  her  mind  in  a  flash. 

<rTou  called  Andrews  to  use  her  authority  with  the  child 

154 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  155 

when  she  would  not  shake  hands  with  me.  The  little 
creature,  for  some  reason  of  her  own,  evidently  feels  an 
antipathy  to  me.  That  interested  me  and  I  watched  her 
as  Andrews  whispered  in  her  ear.  The  woman's  vanity 
was  stung.  I  realized  that  she  whispered  a  threat.  A 
hint  of  actual  ferocity  showed  in  her  eyes  in  spite  of  her 
self.  Robin  turned  pale." 

"Andrews  was  quite  right.  Children  must  be  punished 
when  they  are  rude."  Feather  felt  this  at  once  silly  and 
boring.  What  did  he  know  about  such  matters? 

"The  child  said,  'Andrews  will  pinch  me  V  and  I  caught 
Andrews'  eye  and  knew  it  was  true — also  that  she  had 
done  it  before.  I  looked  at  the  woman's  long,  thin,  strong 
fingers.  They  were  cruel  fingers.  I  do  not  take  liberties, 
as  a  rule,  but  I  took  a  liberty.  I  excused  myself  and 
climbed  three  flights  of  stairs." 

Never  had  Feather  been  so  surprised  in  her  life.  She 
looked  like  a  bewildered  child. 

"But — but  what  could  it  matter  to  you?"  she  said  in 
soft  amaze. 

"I  don't  know,"  his  answer  came  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"I  have  caprices  of  mood.  Certain  mental  images  made 
my  temperature  rise.  Momentarily  it  did  matter.  One  is 
like  that  at  times.  Andrews'  feline  face  and  her  muscular 
fingers —  and  the  child's  extraordinarily  exquisite  flesh — 
gave  me  a  second's  furious  shudder." 

Feather  quite  broke  in  upon  him. 

"Are  you — are  you  fond  of  children?" 

"No,"  he  was  really  abrupt.  "I  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing  in  my  life — as  being  fond  of  things." 

"That  was  what — I  mean  I  thought  so."  Feather 
faltered,  as  if  in  polite  acquiescence  with  a  quite  natural 
fact. 

Coombe  proceeded: 


156  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"As  I  went  up  the  stairs  I  heard  screams  and  I  thought 
that  the  pinching  had  begun.  I  got  up  quickly  and  opened 
the  door  and  found  the  woman  lying  flat  on  the  floor  by 
the  bed,  dragging  out  the  child  who  had  hidden  under  it. 
The  woman's  face  was  devilish,  and  so  was  her  voice.  I 
heard  her  threats.  She  got  on  her  feet  and  dragged  the 
child  up  and  held  her  between  her  knees.  She  clapped 
her  hand  over  her  mouth  to  stifle  her  shrieks.  There  I 
stopped  her.  She  had  a  fright  at  sight  of  me  which  taught 
her  something/'  He  ended  rather  slowly.  "I  took  the 
great  liberty  of  ordering  her  to  pack  her  box  and  leave  the 
house — of  course,"  with  a  slight  bow,  "using  you  as  my 
authority." 

"Andrews !"  cried  Feather,  aghast.    "Has  she — gone  ?" 

"Would  you  have  kept  her?"  he  inquired. 

"It's  true  that — that  pinching"  Feather's  voice  almost 
held  tears,  " — really  hard  pinching  is — is  not  proper. 
But  Andrews  has  been  invaluable.  Everyone  says  Kobin 
is  better  dressed  and  better  kept  than  other  children.  And 
she  is  never  allowed  to  make  the  least  noise " 

"One  wouldn't  if  one  were  pinched  by  those  devilish, 
sinewy  fingers  every  time  one  raised  one's  voice.  Yes. 
She  has  gone.  I  ordered  her  to  put  her  charge  to  bed 
before  she  packed.  I  did  not  leave  her  alone  with  Eobin. 
In  fact,  I  walked  about  the  two  nurseries  and  looked  them 
over." 

He  had  walked  about  the  Night  Nursery  and  the  Day 
Nursery !  He — the  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe,  whose 
finely  acrid  summing  up  of  things,  they  were  all  secretly 
afraid  of,  if  the  truth  were  known.  "They"  stood  for  her 
smart,  feverishly  pleasure-chasing  set.  In  their  way,  they 
half  unconsciously  tried  to  propitiate  something  in  him, 
always  without  producing  the  least  effect.  Her  mental 
vision  presented  to  her  his  image  as  he  had  walked  about 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  157 

the  horrid  little  rooms,  his  somewhat  stiffly  held  head  not 
much  below  the  low  ceilings.  He  had  taken  in  shabby 
carpets,  furniture,  faded  walls,  general  dim  dinginess. 

"It's  an  unholy  den  for  anything  to  spend  its  days  in — 
that  third  floor,"  he  made  the  statement  detachedly,  in  a 
way.  "If  she's  six,  she  has  lived  six  years  there — and 
known  nothing  else." 

"All  London  top  floors  are  like  it,"  said  Feather,  "and 
they  are  all  nurseries  and  school  rooms — where  there  are 
children." 

His  faintly  smiling  glance  took  in  her  girl-child  slim- 
ness  in  its  glittering  sheath — the  zephyr  scarf  floating 
from  the  snow  of  her  bared  loveliness — her  delicate  soft 
chin  deliciously  lifted  as  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"How  would  you  like  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"But  I  am  not  a  child,"  in  pretty  protest.  "Children 
are — are  different !" 

"You  look  like  a  child,"  he  suddenly  said,  queerly — as 
if  the  aspect  of  her  caught  him  for  an  instant  and  made 
him  absent-minded.  "Sometimes — a  woman  does.  Not 
often." 

She  bloomed  into  a  kind  of  delighted  radiance. 

"You  don't  often  pay  me  compliments,"  she  said.  "That 
is  a  beautiful  one.  Eobin — makes  it  more  beautiful." 

"It  isn't  a  compliment,"  he  answered,  still  watching 
her  in  the  slightly  absent  manner?  "It  is — a  tragic  truth." 

He  passed  his  hand  lightly  across  his  eyes  as  if  he  swept 
something  away,  and  then  both  looked  and  spoke  exactly 
as  before. 

"I  have  decided  to  buy  the  long  lease  of  this  house.  It 
is  for  sale,"  he  said,  casually.  "I  shall  buy  it  for  the 
child." 

"For  Robin !"  said  Feather,  helplessly. 

"Yes,  for  Robin." 


158  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"It — it  would  be  an  income — whatever  happened.  It 
is  in  the  very  heart  of  Mayfair,"  she  said,  because,  in  her 
astonishment — almost  consternation — she  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  He  would  not  buy  it  for  her.  He  thought 
her  too  silly  to  trust.  But,  if  it  were  Eobin's — it  would 
be  hers  also.  A  girl  couldn't  turn  her  own  mother  into 
the  street.  Amid  the  folds  of  her  narrow  being  hid  just 
one  spark  of  shrewdness  which  came  to  life  where  she  her 
self  was  concerned. 

"Two  or  three  rooms-  -not  large  ones — can  be  added  at 
the  back,"  he  went  on.  "I  glanced  out  of  a  window  to  see 
if  it  could  be  done." 

Incomprehensible  as  he  was,  one  might  always  be  sure 
of  a  certain  princeliness  in  his  inexplicable  methods.  He 
never  was  personal  or  mean.  An  addition  to  the  slice  of 
a  house!  That  really  was  generous!  Enhancement 
filled  her. 

"That  really  is  kind  of  you,"  she  murmured,  gratefully. 
"It  seems  too  much  to  ask !" 

"You  did  not  ask  it,"  was  his  answer. 

"But  I  shall  benefit  by  it.  Nothing  could  be  nicer. 
These  rooms  are  so  much  too  small,"  glancing  about  her 
in  flushed  rapture,  "And  my  bedroom  is  dreadful.  Fm 
obliged  to  use  Bob's  for  a  dressing-room." 

"The  new  rooms  will  be  for  Eobin,"  he  said.  An  ex 
cellent  method  he  had  discovered,  of  entirely  detaching 
himself  from  the  excitements  and  emotions  of  other 
persons,  removed  the  usual  difficulties  in  the  way  of  dis 
appointing — speaking  truths  to — or  embarrassing  people 
who  deserved  it.  It  was  this  method  which  had  utterly 
cast  down  the  defences  of  Andrews.  Feather  was  so 
wholly  left  out  of  the  situation  that  she  was  actually 
almost  saved  from  its  awkwardness.  "When  one  is  six," 
he  explained,  "one  will  soon  be  seven — nine — twelve. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  159 

Then  the  teens  begin  to  loom  up  and  one  cannot  be  con 
cealed  in  cupboards  on  a  top  floor.  Even  before  that  time 
a  governess  is  necessary,  and,  even  from  the  abyss  of  my 
ignorance,  I  see  that  no  respectable  woman  would  stand 
either  the  Night  or  the  Day  Nursery.  Your  daughter " 

"Oh,  don't  call  her  that!"  cried  Feather.  "My 
daughter!  It  sounds  as  if  she  were  eighteen!"  She  felt 
as  if  she  had  had  a  sudden  hideous  little  shock.  Six  years 
had  passed  since  Bob  died !  A  daughter !  A  school  girl 
with  long  hair  and  long  legs  to  keep  out  of  the  way.  A 
grown-up  girl  to  drag  about  with  one.  Never  would  she 
do  it! 

"Three  sixes  are  eighteen,"  Coombe  continued,  "as  was 
impressed  upon  one  in  early  years  by  the  multiplication 
table." 

"I  never  saw  you  so  interested  in  anything  before," 
Feather  faltered.  "Climbing  steep,  narrow,  horrid  stairs 
to  her  nursery !  Dismissing  her  nurse !"  She  paused  a 
second,  because  a  very  ugly  little  idea  had  clutched  at 
her.  It  arose  from  and  was  complicated  with  many 
fantastic,  half  formed,  secret  resentments  of  the  past. 
It  made  her  laugh  a  shade  hysterical. 

"Are  you  going  to  see  that  she  is  properly  brought  up 
and  educated,  so  that  if — anyone  important  falls  in  love 
with  her  she  can  make  a  good  match?" 

Hers  was  quite  a  hideous  little  mind,  he  was  telling  him 
self — fearful  in  its  latter  day  casting  aside  of  all  such 
small  matters  as  taste  and  feeling.  People  stripped  the 
garments  from  things  in  these  days.  He  laughed  in 
wardly  at  himself  and  his  unwitting  "these  days."  Senile 
severity  mouthed  just  such  phrases.  Were  they  not  his 
own  days  and  the  outcome  of  a  past  which  had  considered 
itself  so  much  more  decorous?  Had  not  boldly  question 
able  attitudes  been  held  in  those  other  days?  How  long 


160  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

was  it  since  the  Prince  Regent  himself  had  flourished? 
It  was  only  that  these  days  brought  it  all  close  against 
one's  eyes.  But  this  exquisite  creature  had  a  hideous 
little  mind  of  her  own  whatsoever  her  day. 

Later,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  he  was  unprepared 
to  see  her  spring  to  her  feet  and  stand  before  him  absurdly, 
fantastically  near  being  impassioned. 

"You  think  I  am  too  silly  to  see  anything,"  she  broke 
forth.  "But  I  do  see — a  long  way  sometimes.  I  can't 
bear  it  but  I  do — I  do !  I  shall  have  a  grown-up  daughter. 
She  will  be  the  kind  of  girl  everyone  will  look  at — and 
someone — important — may  want  to  marry  her.  But, 
Oh! — "  He  was  reminded  of  the  day  when  she  had 
fallen  at  his  feet,  and  clasped  his  rigid  and  reluctant  knees. 
This  was  something  of  the  same  feeble  desperation  of 
mood.  "Oh,  why  couldn't  someone  like  that  have  wanted 
t,o  marry  me !  See !"  she  was  like  a  pathetic  fairy  as  she 
spread  her  nymphlike  arms,  "how  pretty  I  am !" 

His  gaze  held  her  a  moment  in  the  singular  fashion  with 
which  she  had  become  actually  familiar,  because — at  long 
intervals — she  kept  seeing  it  again.  He  quite  gently  took 
her  fingers  and  returned  her  to  her  sofa. 

"Please  sit  down  again,"  he  requested.  "It  will  be 
better." 

She  sat  down  without  another  imbecile  word  to  say. 
As  for  him,  he  changed  the  subject. 

"With  your  permission,  Benby  will  undertake  the 
business  of  the  lease  and  the  building,"  he  explained.  "The 
plans  will  be  brought  to  you.  We  will  go  over  them 
together,  if  you  wish.  There  will  be  decent  rooms  for 
Robin  and  her  governess.  The  two  nurseries  can  be  made 
fit  for  human  beings  to  live  in  and  used  for  other  pur 
poses.  The  house  will  be  greatly  improved." 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  when  Feather  went  upstairs 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  161 

to  her  dozing  maid,  because,  after  he  had  left  her,  she  sat 
some  time  in  the  empty,  untidy  little  drawing-room  and 
gazed  straight  before  her  at  a  painted  screen  on  which 
shepherdesses  and  swains  were  dancing  in  a  Watteau  glade 
infested  by  flocks  of  little  Loves. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

W HEIST,  from  Robin's  embarrassed  young  conscious 
ness,  there  had  welled  up  the  hesitating  confession, 
"She — doesn't  like  me,"  she  could  not,  of  course, 
have  found  words  in  which  to  make  the  reasons  for  her 
knowledge  clear,  but  they  had  for  herself  no  obscurity. 
The  fair  being  who,  at  rare  intervals,  fluttered  on  the 
threshold  of  her  world  had  a  way  of  looking  at  her  with 
a  shade  of  aloof  distaste  in  her  always  transient  gaze. 

The  unadorned  fact  was  that  Feather  did  not  like  her. 
She  had  been  outraged  by  her  advent.  A  baby  was  ab 
surdly  "out  of  the  picture."  So  far  as  her  mind  encom 
passed  a  future,  she  saw  herself  flitting  from  flower  to 
flower  of  "smart"  pleasures  and  successes,  somehow,  with 
more  money  and  more  exalted  invitations — "something" 
vaguely — having  happened  to  the  entire  Lawdor  progeny, 
and  she,  therefore,  occupying  a  position  in  which  it  was 
herself  who  could  gracefully  condescend  to  others.  There 
was  nothing  so  "stodgy"  as  children  in  the  vision.  When 
the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  she  had  been  consoled  by  the 
thought  that  she  had  really  managed  the  whole  thing  very 
cleverly.  It  was  easier,  of  course,  to  so  arrange  such 
things  in  modern  days  and  in  town.  The  Day  Nursery 
and  the  Night  Nursery  on  the  third  floor,  a  smart-looking 
young  woman  who  knew  her  business,  who  even  knew 
what  to  buy  for  a  child  and  where  to  buy  it,  without 
troubling  any  one  simplified  the  situation.  Andrews  had 
been  quite  wonderful.  Nobody  can  bother  one  about  a 

162 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  163 

healthy,  handsome  child  who  is  seen  meticulously  cared 
for  and  beautifully  dressed,  being  pushed  or  led  or  carried 
out  in  the  open  air  every  day. 

But  there  had  arrived  the  special  morning  when  she 
had  seen  a  child  who  so  stood  out  among  a  dozen  children 
that  she  had  been  startled  when  she  recognized  that  it 
was  Eobin.  Andrews  had  taken  her  charge  to  Hyde 
Park  that  day  and  Feather  was  driving  through  the  Row 
on  her  way  to  a  Knightsbridge  shop.  First  her  glance  had 
been  caught  by  the  hair  hanging  to  the  little  hips — extraor 
dinary  hair  in  which  Andrews  herself  had  a  pride. 
Then  she  had  seen  the  slender,  exquisitely  modeled  legs, 
and  the  dancing  sway  of  the  small  body.  A  wonderfully 
cut,  stitched,  and  fagotted  smock  and  hat  she  had,  of 
course,  taken  in  at  a  flash.  When  the  child  suddenly 
turned  to  look  at  some  little  girls  in  a  pony  cart,  the 
amazing  damask  of  her  colour,  and  form  and  depth  of  eye 
had  given  her  another  slight  shock.  She  realized  that 
what  she  had  thrust  lightly  away  in  a  corner  of  her  third 
floor  produced  an  unmistakable  effect  when  turned  out 
into  the  light  of  a  gay  world.  The  creature  was  tall  too — 
for  six  years  old.  Was  she  really  six?  It  seemed  incred 
ible.  Ten  more  years  and  she  would  be  sixteen. 

Mrs.  Heppel-Bevill  had  a  girl  of  fifteen,  who  was  a 
perfect  catastrophe.  She  read  things  and  had  begun  to 
talk  about  her  "right  to  be  a  woman."  Emily  Heppel- 
Bevill  was  only  thirty-seven — three  years  from  forty. 
Feather  had  reached  the  stage  of  softening  in  her  disdain 
of  the  women  in  their  thirties.  She  had  found  herself 
admitting  that — in  these  days — there  were  women  of  forty 
who  had  not  wholly  passed  beyond  the  pale  into  that  outer 
darkness,  where  there  was  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnash 
ing  of  teeth.  But  there  was  no  denying  that  this  six 
year  old  baby,  with  the  dancing  step,  gave  one — almost 


164  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

hysterically — "to  think."  Her  imagination  could  not — 
never  had  and  never  would  she  have  allowed  it  to — grasp 
any  belief  that  she  herself  could  change.  A  Feather,  No ! 
But  a  creature  of  sixteen,  eighteen — with  eyes  that  shape 
— with  lashes  an  inch  long — with  yards  of  hair — standing 
by  one's  side  in  ten  years !  It  was  ghastly ! 

Coombe,  in  his  cold  perfunctory  way,  climbing  the 
crooked,  narrow  stairs,  dismissing  Andrews — looking  over 
the  rooms — dismissing1  them,  so  to  speak,  and  then  remain 
ing  after  the  rest  had  gone  to  reveal  to  her  a  new  abnormal 
mood — that,  in  itself  alone,  was  actually  horrible.  It  was 
abnormal  and  yet  he  had  always  been  more  or  less  like 
that  in  all  things.  Despite  everything — everything — he 
had  never  been  in  love  with  her  at  all.  At  first  she  had 
believed  he  was — then  she  had  tried  to  make  him  care  for 
her.  He  had  never  failed  her,  he  had  done  everything 
in  his  grand  seigneur  fashion.  Nobody  dare  make  gross 
comment  upon  her,  but,  while  he  saw  her  loveliness  as 
only  such  a  man  could — she  had  gradually  realized  that 
she  had  never  had  even  a  chance  with  him.  She  could 
not  even  think  that  if  she  had  not  been  so  silly  and 
frightened  that  awful  day  six  years  ago,  and  had  not  lost 
her  head,  he  might  have  admired  her  more  and  more  and 
in  the  end  asked  her  to  marry  him.  He  had  said  there 
must  be  no  mistakes,  and  she  had  not  been  allowed  to  fall 
into  making  one.  The  fact  that  she  had  not,  had,  finally, 
made  her  feel  the  power  of  a  certain  fascination  in  him. 
She  thought  it  was  a  result  of  his  special  type  of  looks, 
his  breeding,  the  wonderful  clothes  he  wore — but  it  was, 
in  truth,  his  varieties  of  inaccessibility. 

"A  girl  might  like  him,"  she  had  said  to  herself  that 
night — she  sat  up  late  after  he  left  her.  "A  girl  who — 
who  had  up-to-date  sense  might.  Modern  people  don't 
grow  old  as  they  used  to.  At  fifty-five  he  won't  be  fat, 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  165 

or  bald,  and  he  won't  have  lost  his  teeth.  People  have 
found  out  they  needn't.  He  will  be  as  thin  and  straight 
as  he  is  today — and  nothing  can  alter  his  nose.  He  will 
be  ten  years  cleverer  than  he  is  now.  Buying  the  house 
for  a  child  of  that  age — building  additional  rooms  for 
her !" 

In  the  fevered,  rapid,  deep-dipping  whirl  of  the  life 
which  was  the  only  one  she  knew,  she  had  often  seen 
rather  trying  things  happen — almost  unnatural  changes 
in  situations.  People  had  overcome  the  folly  of  being 
afraid  to  alter  their  minds  and  their  views  about  what  they 
had  temporarily  believed  were  permanent  bonds  and 
emotions.  Bonds  had  become  old  fogeyish.  Marriages 
went  to  pieces,  the  parties  in  love  affairs  engaged  in  a 
sort  of  "dance  down  the  middle"  and  turn  other  people's 
partners.  The  rearrangement  of  figures  sometimes  made 
for  great  witticism.  Occasionally  people  laughed  at  them 
selves  as  at  each  other.  The  admirers  of  engaging  matrons 
had  been  known  to  renew  their  youth  at  the  coming-out 
balls  of  lovely  daughters  in  their  early  teens,  and  to  end 
by  assuming  the  flowery  chains  of  a  new  allegiance.  Time 
had,  of  course,  been  when  such  a  volte  face  would  have 
aroused  condemnation  and  indignant  discussion,  but  a 
humorous  leniency  spent  but  little  time  in  selecting  terms 
of  severity.  Feather  had  known  of  several  such  con 
tretemps  ending  in  quite  brilliant  matches.  The  enchant 
ing  mothers  usually  consoled  themselves  with  great  ease, 
and,  if  the  party  of  each  part  was  occasionally  wittily 
pungent  in  her  comments  on  the  other,  everybody  laughed 
and  nobody  had  time  to  criticize.  A  man  who  had  had 
much  to  bestow  and  who  preferred  in  youth  to  bestow  it 
upon  himself  was  not  infrequently  more  in  the  mood  for 
the  sharing  of  marriage  when  years  had  revealed  to  him 
the  distressing  fact  that  he  was  not,  and  had  never  been, 


166  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

the  centre  of  the  universe,  which  distressing  fact  is  one 
so  unfairly  concealed  from  youth  in  bloom. 

It  was,  of  course,  but  as  a  vaguely  outlined  vision  that 
these  recognitions  floated  through  what  could  only  be 
alleged  to  be  Feather's  mind  because  there  was  no  other 
name  for  it.  The  dark  little  staircase,  the  rejected  and 
despised  third  floor,  and  Coombe  detachedly  announcing 
his  plans  for  the  house,  had  set  the — so  to  speak — rather 
malarious  mist  flowing  around  her.  A  trying  thing  was 
that  it  did  not  really  dispel  itself  altogether,  but  continued 
to  hang  about  the  atmosphere  surrounding  other  and  more 
cheerful  things.  Almost  impalpably  it  added  to  the 
familiar  feeling — or  lack  of  feeling — with  regard  to  Eobin. 
She  had  not  at  all  hated  the  little  thing;  it  had  merely 
been  quite  true  that,  in  an  inactive  way,  she  had  not  liked 
her.  In  the  folds  of  the  vague  mist  quietly  floated  the 
truth  that  she  now  liked  her  less. 

Benby  came  to  see  and  talk  to  her  on  the  business  of  the 
structural  changes  to  be  made.  He  conducted  himself 
precisely  as  though  her  views  on  the  matter  were  of 
value  and  could  not,  in  fact,  be  dispensed  with.  He 
brought  the  architect's  plans  with  him  and  explained  them 
with  care.  They  were  clever  plans  which  made  the  most 
of  a  limited  area.  He  did  not  even  faintly  smile  when 
it  revealed  itself  to  him,  as  it  unconsciously  did,  that 
Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  regarded  their  adroit  arrangement 
as  a  singular  misuse  of  space  which  could  have  been  much 
better  employed  for  necessities  of  her  own.  She  was  much 
depressed  by  the  ground  floor  addition  which  might  have 
enlarged  her  dining-room,  but  which  was  made  into  a 
sitting-room  for  Eobin  and  her  future  governess. 

"And  that  is  in  addition  to  her  schoolroom  which  might 
have  been  thrown  into  the  drawing-room — besides  the 
new  bedrooms  which  I  needed  so  much,"  she  said. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  167 

"The  new  nurse,  who  is  a  highly  respectable  person," 
explained  Benby,  "could  not  have  been  secured  if  she  had 
not  known  that  improvements  were  being  made.  The 
reconstruction  of  the  third  floor  will  provide  suitable 
accommodations." 

The  special  forte  of  Dowson,  the  new  nurse,  was  a  sub 
limated  respectability  far  superior  to  smartness.  She 
had  been  mystically  produced  by  Benby  and  her  bonnets 
and  jackets  alone  would  have  revealed  her  selection  from 
almost  occult  treasures.  She  wore  bonnets  and  "jackets," 
not  hats  and  coats. 

"In  the  calm  days  of  Her  Majesty,  nurses  dressed  as 
she  does.  I  do  not  mean  in  the  riotous  later  years  of  her 
reign — but  earlier — when  England  dreamed  in  terms  of 
Crystal  Palaces  and  Great  Exhibitions.  She  can  only  be 
the  result  of  excavation,"  Coombe  said  of  her. 

She  was  as  proud  of  her  respectability  as  Andrews  had 
been  of  her  smartness.  This  had,  in  fact,  proved  an 
almost  insuperable  obstacle  to  her  engagement.  The  slice 
of  a  house,  with  its  flocking  in  and  out  of  chattering,  smart 
people  in  marvellous  clothes  was  not  the  place  for  her,  nor 
was  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  the  mistress  of  her  dreams.  But 
her  husband  had  met  with  an  accident  and  must  be  kept 
in  a  hospital,  and  an  invalid  daughter  must  live  by  the 
seaside — and  suddenly,  when  things  were  at  their  worst 
with  her,  had  come  Benby  with  a  firm  determination  to 
secure  her  with  wages  such  as  no  other  place  would  offer. 
Besides  which  she  had  observed  as  she  had  lived. 

"Things  have  changed,"  she  reflected  soberly.  "You've 
got  to  resign  yourself  and  not  be  too  particular." 

She  accepted  the  third  floor,  as  Benby  had  said,  because 
it  was  to  be  rearranged  and  the  Night  and  Day  Nurseries, 
being  thrown  into  one,  repainted  and  papered  would  make 
a  decent  place  to  live  in.  At  the  beautiful  little  girl  given 


168  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

into  her  charge  she  often  looked  in  a  puzzled  way,  because 
she  knew  a  good  deal  about  children,  and  about  this  one 
there  was  something  odd.  Her  examination  of  opened 
drawers  and  closets  revealed  piles  of  exquisite  garments 
of  all  varieties,  all  perfectly  kept.  In  these  dingy  holes, 
which  called  themselves  nurseries,  she  found  evidence  that 
money  had  been  spent  like  water  so  that  the  child,  when 
she  was  seen,  might  look  like  a  small  princess.  But  she 
found  no  plaything — no  dolls  or  toys,  and  only  one  picture 
book,  and  that  had  "Donal"  written  on  the  fly  leaf  and 
evidently  belonged  to  someone  else. 

What  exactly  she  would  have  done  when  she  had  had 
time  to  think  the  matter  over,  she  never  knew,  because,  a 
few  days  after  her  arrival,  a  tall,  thin  gentleman,  coming 
up  the  front  steps  as  she  was  going  out  with  Eobin,  stopped 
and  spoke  to  her  as  if  he  knew  who  she  was. 

"You  know  the  kind  of  things  children  like  to  play 
with,  nurse?"  he  said. 

She  respectfully  replied  that  she  had  had  long  experience 
with  young  desires.  She  did  not  know  as  yet  who  he 
was,  but  there  was  that  about  him  which  made  her  feel 
that,  while  there  was  no  knowing  what  height  his  partic 
ular  exaltation  in  the  matter  of  rank  might  reach,  one 
would  be  safe  in  setting  it  high. 

"Please  go  to  one  of  the  toy  shops  and  choose  for  the 
child  what  she  will  like  best.  Dolls — games — you  will 
know  what  to  select.  Send  the  bill  to  me  at  Coombe 
House.  I  am  Lord  Coombe/' 

"Thank  you,  my  lord,"  Dowson  answered,  with  a  sketch 
of  a  curtsey,  "Miss  Robin,  you  must  hold  out  your  little 
hand  and  say  'thank  you'  to  his  lordship  for  being  so  kind. 
He's  told  Dowson  to  buy  you  some  beautiful  dolls  and 
picture  books  as  a  present." 

Eobin's  eyelashes  curled  against  her  under  brows  in  her 


wide,  still  glance  upward  at  him.  Here  was  "the  one" 
again !  She  shut  her  hand  tightly  into  a  fist  behind  her 
back. 

Lord  Coombe  smiled  a  little — not  much. 

"She  does  not  like  me,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  necessary 
that  she  should  give  me  her  hand.  I  prefer  that  she 
shouldn't,  if  she  doesn't  want  to.  Good  morning,  Dowson." 

To  the  well-regulated  mind  of  Dowson,  this  seemed 
treating  too  lightly  a  matter  as  serious  as  juvenile  inciv 
ility.  She  remonstrated  gravely  and  at  length  with  Kobin. 

"Little  girls  must  behave  prettily  to  kind  gentlemen 
who  are  friends  of  their  mammas.  It  is  dreadful  to  be 
rude  and  not  say  'thank  you',"  she  said. 

But  as  she  talked  she  was  vaguely  aware  that  her  words 
passed  by  the  child's  ears  as  the  summer  wind  passed. 
Perhaps  it  was  all  a  bit  of  temper  and  would  disappear 
and  leave  no  trace  behind.  At  the  same  time,  there  was 
something  queer  about  the  little  thing.  She  had  a  listless 
way  of  sitting  staring  out  of  the  window  and  seeming  to 
have  no  desire  to  amuse  herself.  She  was  too  young  to 
be  listless  and  she  did  not  care  for  her  food.  Dowson 
asked  permission  to  send  for  the  doctor  and,  when  he  came, 
he  ordered  sea  air. 

"Of  course,  you  can  take  her  away  for  a  few  weeks," 
Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  said.  Here  she  smiled  satirically 
and  added,  "But  I  can  tell  you  what  it  is  all  about.  The 
little  minx  actually  fell  in  love  with  a  small  boy  she  met 
in  the  Square  Gardens  and,  when  his  mother  took  him 
from  London,  she  began  to  mope  like  a  tiresome  girl  in 
her  teens.  It's  ridiculous,  but  is  the  real  trouble." 

"Oh !"  said  Dowson,  the  low  and  respectful  interjection 
expressing  a  shade  of  disapproval,  "Children  do  have 
fancies,  ma'am.  She'll  get  over  it  if  we  give  her  some 
thing  else  to  think  of." 


170  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

The  good  woman  went  to  one  of  the  large  toy  shops  and 
bought  a  beautiful  doll,  a  doll's  house,  and  some  picture 
books.  When  they  were  brought  up  to  the  Day  Nursery, 
Eobin  was  asleep  after  a  rather  long  walk,  which  Dowson 
had  decided  would  be  good  for  her.  When  she  came  later 
into  the  room,  after  the  things  had  been  unpacked,  she 
regarded  them  with  an  expression  of  actual  dislike. 

"Isn't  that  a  beautiful  doll?"  said  Dowson,  good- 
humouredly.  "And  did  you  ever  see  such  a  lovely  house  ? 
It  was  kind  Lord  Coombe  who  gave  them  to  you.  Just 
you  look  at  the  picture  books." 

Eobin  put  her  hands  behind  her  back  and  would  not 
touch  them.  Dowson,  who  was  a  motherly  creature  with 
a  great  deal  of  commonsense,  was  set  thinking.  She 
began  to  make  guesses,  though  she  was  not  yet  sufficiently 
familiar  with  the  household  to  guess  from  any  firm 
foundation  of  knowledge  of  small  things. 

"Come  here,  dear,"  she  said,  and  drew  the  small  thing 
to  her  knee.  "Is  it  because  you  don't  love  Lord  Coombe  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

"But  why?"  said  Dowson.  "When  he  is  such  a  kind 
gentleman  ?" 

But  Eobin  would  not  tell  her  why  and  never  did.  She 
never  told  any  one,  until  years  had  passed,  how  this  had 
been  the  beginning  of  a  hatred.  The  toys  were  left  behind 
when  she  was  taken  to  the  seaside.  Dowson  tried  to  per 
suade  her  to  play  with  them  several  times,  but  she  would 
not  touch  them,  so  they  were  put  away.  Feeling  that  she 
was  dealing  with  something  unusual,  and,  being  a  kindly 
person,  Dowson  bought  her  some  playthings  on  her  own 
account.  They  were  simple  things,  but  Eobin  was  ready 
enough  to  like  them. 

"Did  you  give  them  to  me  ?"  she  asked. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  171 

"Yes,  I  did,  Miss  Eobin." 

The  child  drew  near  her  after  a  full  minute  of  hesita 
tion. 

"I  will  kiss  you !"  she  said  solemnly,  and  performed  the 
rite  as  whole-souledly  as  Donal  had  done. 

"Dear  little  mite !"  exclaimed  the  surprised  Dowson. 
"Dear  me !"  And  there  was  actual  moisture  in  her  eyes 
as  she  squeezed  the  small  body  in  her  arms. 

"She's  the  strangest  mite  I  ever  nursed,"  was  her 
comment  to  Mrs.  Blayne  below  stairs.  "It  was  so  sudden, 
and  she  did  it  as  if  she'd  never  done  it  before.  I'd 
actually  been  thinking  she  hadn't  any  feeling  at  all." 

"No  reason  why  she  should  have.  She's  been  taken 
care  of  by  the  clock  and  dressed  like  a  puppet,  but  she's 
not  been  treated  human !"  broke  forth  Mrs.  Blayne. 

Then  the  whole  story  was  told — the  "upstairs"  story 
with  much  vivid  description,  and  the  mentioning  of  many 
names  and  the  dotting  of  many  "i's".  Dowson  had 
heard  certain  things  only  through  vague  rumour,  but  now 
she  knew  and  began  to  see  her  way.  She  had  not  heard 
names  before,  and  the  definite  inclusion  of  Lord  Coombe's 
suggested  something  to  her. 

"Do  you  think  the  child  could  be  jealous  of  his  lord 
ship?"  she  suggested. 

"She  might  if  she  knew  anything  about  him — but  she 
never  saw  him  until  the  night  she  was  taken  down  into 
the  drawing-room.  She's  lived  upstairs  like  a  little  dog 
in  its  kennel." 

"Well,"  Dowson  reflected  aloud,  "it  sounds  almost 
silly  to  talk  of  a  child's  hating  any  one,  but  that  bit  of  a 
thing's  eyes  had  fair  hate  in  them  when  she  looked  up  at 
him  where  he  stood.  That  was  what  puzzled  me." 


CHAPTER  XV 

BEFORE  Robin  had  been  taken  to  the  seaside  to  be 
helped  by  the  bracing  air  of  the  Norfolk  coast  to 
recover  her  lost  appetite  and  forget  her  small 
tragedy,  she  had  observed  that  unaccustomed  things  were 
taking  place  in  the  house.  Workmen  came  in  and  out 
through  the  mews  at  the  back  and  brought  ladders  with 
them  and  tools  in  queer  bags.  She  heard  hammerings 
which  began  very  early  in  the  morning  and  went  on  all 
day.  As  Andrews  had  trained  her  not  to  ask  tiresome 
questions,  she  only  crept  now  and  then  to  a  back  window 
and  peeped  out.  But  in  a  few  days  Dowson  took  her 
away. 

When  she  came  back  to  London,  she  was  not  taken  up 
the  steep  dark  stairs  to  the  third  floor.  Dowson  led  her 
into  some  rooms  she  had  never  seen  before.  They  were 
light  and  airy  and  had  pretty  walls  and  furniture.  A 
sitting-room  on  the  ground  floor  had  even  a  round  window 
with  plants  in  it  and  a  canary  bird  singing  in  a  cage. 

"May  we  stay  here?"  she  asked  Dowson  in  a  Y/hisper. 

"We  are  going  to  live  here,"  was  the  answer. 

And  so  they  did. 

At  first  Feather  occasionally  took  her  intimates  to  see 
the  additional  apartments. 

"In  perfect  splendour  is  the  creature  put  up,  and  I  with 
a  bedroom  like  a  coalhole  and  such  drawing-rooms  as  you 
see  each  time  you  enter  the  house !"  she  broke  forth  spite 
fully  one  day  when  she  forgot  herself. 

172 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  173 

She  said  it  to  the  Starling  and  Harrowby,  who  had  been 
simply  gazing  about  them  in  fevered  mystification,  because 
the  new  development  was  a  thing  which  must  invoke  some 
more  or  less  interesting  explanation.  At  her  outbreak, 
all  they  could  do  was  to  gaze  at  her  with  impartial  eyes, 
which  suggested  question,  and  Feather  shrugged  pettish 
shoulders. 

"You  knew  I  didn't  do  it.  How  could  I?"  she  said. 
"It  is  a  queer  whim  of  Coombe's.  Of  course,  it  is  not 
the  least  like  him.  I  call  it  morbid." 

After  which  people  knew  about  the  matter  and  found  it 
a  subject  for  edifying  and  quite  stimulating  discussion. 
There  was  something  fantastic  in  the  situation.  Coombe 
was  the  last  man  on  earth  to  have  taken  the  slightest 
notice  of  the  child's  existence !  It  was  believed  that  he 
had  never  seen  her — except  in  long  clothes — until  she  had 
glared  at  him  and  put  her  hand  behind  her  back  the  night 
she  was  brought  into  the  drawing-room.  She  had  been 
adroitly  kept  tucked  away  in  an  attic  somewhere.  And 
now  behold  an  addition  of  several  wonderful,  small  rooms 
built,  furnished  and  decorated  for  her  alone,  where  she 
was  to  live  as  in  a  miniature  palace  attended  by  servitors ! 
Coombe,  as  a  purveyor  of  nursery  appurtenances,  was  re 
garded  with  humour,  the  general  opinion  being  that  the 
eruption  of  a  volcano  beneath  his  feet  alone  could  have 
awakened  his  somewhat  chill  self -absorption  to  the  recog 
nition  of  any  child's  existence. 

"To  be  exact  we  none  of  us  really  know  anything  in 
particular  about  his  mental  processes."  Harrowby  pond 
ered  aloud.  "He's  capable  of  any  number  of  things  we 
might  not  understand,  if  he  condescended  to  tell  us  about 
them — which  he  would  never  attempt.  He  has  a  remote, 
brilliantly  stored,  cynical  mind.  He  owns  that  he  is  of  an 
inhuman  selfishness.  I  haven't  a  suggestion  to  make,  but 


174  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

it  sets  one  searching  through  the  purlieus  of  one's  mind  for 
an  approximately  reasonable  explanation." 

"Why  'purlieus'  ?"  was  the  Starling's  inquiry.  Har- 
rowby  shrugged  his  narrow  shoulders  ever  so  lightly. 

"Well,  one  isn't  searching  for  reasons  founded  on  copy 
book  axioms/'  he  shook  his  head.  "Coombe?  No." 

There  was  a  silence  given  to  occult  thought. 

"Feather  is  really  in  a  rage  and  is  too  Feathery  to  be 
able  to  conceal  it,"  said  Starling. 

"Feather  would  be — inevitably,"  Harrowby  lifted  his 
near-sighted  eyes  to  her  curiously.  "Can  you  see  Feather 
in  the  future — when  Eobin  is  ten  years  older?" 

"I  can,"  the  Starling  answered. 


The  years  which  followed  were  changing  years — growing 
years.  Life  and  entertainment  went  on  fast  and  furiously 
in  all  parts  of  London,  and  in  no  part  more  rapidly  than 
in  the  slice  of  a  house  whose  front  always  presented  an  air 
of  having  been  freshly  decorated,  in  spite  of  summer  rain 
and  winter  soot  and  fog.  The  plants  in  the  window  boxes 
seemed  always  in  bloom,  being  magically  replaced  in  the 
early  morning  hours  when  they  dared  to  hint  at  flagging. 
Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless,  it  was  said,  must  be  renewed  in  some 
such  mysterious  morning  way,  as  she  merely  grew  prettier 
as  she  neared  thirty  and  passed  it.  Women  did  in  these 
days!  Which  last  phrase  had  always  been  a  useful  one, 
probably  from  the  time  of  the  Flood.  Old  fogeys,  male 
and  female,  had  used  it  in  the  past  as  a  means  of 
scathingly  unfavourable  comparison,  growing  flushed  and 
almost  gobbling  like  turkey  cocks  in  their  indignation. 
Now,  as  a  phrase,  it  was  a  support  and  a  mollifier.  "In 
these  days"  one  knew  better  how  to  amuse  oneself,  was 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  175 

more  free  to  snatch  at  agreeable  opportunity,  less  in  bond 
age  to  old  fancies  which  had  called  themselves  beliefs; 
everything  whirled  faster  and  more  lightly — danced,  two- 
stepped,  instead  of  marching. 

Robin  vaguely  connected  certain  changes  in  her  existence 
with  the  changes  which  took  place  in  the  fashion  of  sleeves 
and  skirts  which  appeared  to  produce  radical  effects  in  the 
world  she  caught  glimpses  of.  Sometimes  sleeves  were 
closely  fitted  to  people's  arms,  then  puffs  sprang  from 
them  and  grew  until  they  were  enormous  and  required 
delicate  manipulation  when  coats  were  put  on;  then  their 
lavishness  of  material  fell  from  the  shoulder  to  the  wrists 
and  hung  there  swaying  until  some  sudden  development 
of  skirt  seemed  to  distract  their  attention  from  themselves 
and  they  shrank  into  unimportance  and  skirts  changed  in 
stead.  Afterwards,  sometimes  figures  were  slim  and  en 
cased  in  sheathlike  draperies,  sometimes  folds  rippled 
about  feet,  "fullness"  crept  here  or  there  or  disappeared 
altogether,  trains  grew  longer  or  shorter  or  wider  or  nar 
rower,  cashmeres,  grosgrain  silks  and  heavy  satins  were 
suddenly  gone  and  chiffon  wreathed  itself  about  the  world 
and  took  possession  of  it.  Bonnets  ceased  to  exist  and  hats 
were  immense  or  tiny,  tall  or  flat,  tilted  at  the  back,  at 
the  side,  at  the  front,  worn  over  the  face  or  dashingly 
rolled  back  from  it;  feathers  drooped  or  stood  upright  at 
heights  which  rose  and  fell  and  changed  position  with  the 
changing  seasons.  No  garment  or  individual  wore  the 
same  aspect  for  more  than  a  month's  time.  It  was  neces 
sary  to  change  all  things  with  a  rapidity  matching  the 
change  of  moods  and  fancies  which  altered  at  the  rate  of 
the  automobiles  which  dashed  here  and  there  and  every 
where,  through  country  roads,  through  town,  through  re 
mote  places  with  an  unsparing  swiftness  which  set  a  new 
pace  for  the  world. 


"I  cannot  hark  back  regretfully  to  stage  coaches,"  said 
Lord  Coombe.  "Even  I  was  not  born  early  enough  for 
that.  But  in  the  days  of  my  youth  and  innocence  express 
trains  seemed  almost  supernatural.  One  could  drive  a 
pair  of  horses  twenty  miles  to  make  a  country  visit,  but 
one  could  not  drive  back  the  same  day.  One's  circle  had 
its  limitations  and  degrees  of  intimacy.  Now  it  is  possi 
ble  to  motor  fifty  miles  to  lunch  and  home  to  dine  with 
guests  from  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth.  Oceans 
are  crossed  in  six  days,  and  the  eager  flit  from  continent 
to  continent.  Engagements  can  be  made  by  cable  and  the 
truly  enterprising  can  accept  an  invitation  to  dine  in 
America  on  a  fortnight's  notice.  Telephones  communi 
cate  in  a  few  seconds  and  no  one  is  secure  from  social  in 
tercourse  for  fifteen  minutes.  Acquaintances  and  corres 
pondence  have  no  limitations  because  all  the  inhabitants 
of  the  globe  can  reach  one  by  motor  or  electricity.  In  mo 
ments  of  fatigue  I  revert  to  the  days  of  Queen  Anne  with 
pleasure." 

While  these  changes  went  on,  Eobin  lived  in  her  own 
world  in  her  own  quarters  at  the  rear  of  the  slice  of  a 
house.  During  the  early  years  spent  with  Dowson,  she 
learned  gradually  that  life  was  a  better  thing  than  she 
had  known  in  the  dreary  gloom  of  the  third  floor  Day  and 
Night  Nurseries.  She  was  no  longer  left  to  spend  hours 
alone,  nor  was  she  taken  below  stairs  to  listen  blankly  to 
servants  talking  to  each  other  of  mysterious  things  with 
which  she  herself  and  the  Lady  Downstairs  and  "him" 
were  somehow  connected,  her  discovery  of  this  fact  being 
based  on  the  dropping  of  voices  and  sidelong  glances  at  her 
and  sudden  warning  sounds  from  Andrews.  She  realized 
that  Dowson  would  never  pinch  her,  and  the  rooms  she 
lived  in  were  pretty  and  bright. 

Gradually  playthings   and  picture  books  appeared  in 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  177 

them,  which  she  gathered  Dowson  presented  her  with. 
She  gathered  this  from  Dowson  herself. 

She  had  never  played  with  the  doll,  and,  by  chance  a 
day  arriving  when  Lord  Coombe  encountered  Dowson  in 
the  street  without  her  charge,  he  stopped  her  again  and 
spoke  as  before. 

"Is  the  little  girl  well  and  happy,  Nurse?"  he  asked. 

"Quite  well,  my  lord,  and  much  happier  than  she  used  to 
be/' 

"Did  she,"  he  hesitated  slightly,  'like  the  playthings 
you  bought  her?" 

Dowson  hesitated  more  than  slightly  but,  being  a  sensi 
ble  woman  and  at  the  same  time  curious  about  the  matter, 
she  spoke  the  truth. 

"She  wouldn't  play  with  them  at  all,  my  lord.  I  couldn't 
persuade  her  to.  What  her  child's  fancy  was  I  don't 
know." 

"Neither  do  I — except  that  it  is  founded  on  a  distinct 
dislike,"  said  Coombe.  There  was  a  brief  pause.  "Are 
you  fond  of  toys  yourself,  Dowson?"  he  inquired  coldly. 

"I  am  that — and  I  know  how  to  choose  them,  your  lord 
ship,"  replied  Dowson,  with  a  large,  shrewd  intelligence. 

"Then  oblige  me  by  throwing  away  the  doll  and  its  ac 
companiments  and  buying  some  toys  for  yourself,  at  my 
expense.  You  can  present  them  to  Miss  Robin  as  a  per 
sonal  gift.  She  will  accept  them  from  you." 

He  passed  on  his  way  and  Dowson  looked  after  him 
interestedly. 

"If  she  was  his,"  she  thought,  "I  shouldn't  be  puzzled. 
But  she's  not — that  I've  ever  heard  of.  He's  got  some 
fancy  of  his  own  the  same  as  Robin  has,  though  you 
wouldn't  think  it  to  look  at  him.  I'd  like  to  know  what 
it  is." 

It  was  a  fancy — an  old,  old  fancy — it   harked  back 


178  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

nearly  thirty  years — to  the  dark  days  of  youth  and  passion 
and  unending  tragedy  whose  anguish,  as  it  then  seemed, 
could  never  pass — but  which,  nevertheless,  had  faded  with 
the  years  as  they  flowed  by.  And  yet  left  him  as  he  was 
and  had  been.  He  was  not  sentimental  about  it,  he  smiled 
at  himself  drearily — though  never  at  the  memory — when 
it  rose  again  and,  through  its  vague  power,  led  him  to  do 
strange  things  curiously  verging  on  the  emotional  and  ec 
centric.  But  even  the  child — who  quite  loathed  him  for 
some  fantastic  infant  reason  of  her  own — even  the  child 
had  her  part  in  it.  His  soul  oddly  withdrew  itself  into 
a  far  remoteness  as  he  walked  away  and  Piccadilly  became 
a  shadow  and  a  dream. 

Dowson  went  home  and  began  to  pack  neatly  in  a  box 
the  neglected  doll  and  the  toys  which  had  accompanied 
her.  Robin  seeing  her  doing  it,  asked  a  question. 

"Are  they  going  back  to  the  shop  ?" 

"No.  Lord  Coombe  is  letting  me  give  them  to  a  little 
girl  who  is  very  poor  and  has  to  lie  in  bed  because  her 
back  hurts  her.  His  lordship  is  so  kind  he  does  not  want 
you  to  be  troubled  with  them.  He  is  not  angry.  He  is 
too  good  to  be  angry." 

That  was  not  true,  thought  Robin.  He  had  done  that 
tiling  she  remembered !  Goodness  could  not  have  done  it. 
Only  badness. 

When  Dowson  brought  in  a  new  doll  and  other  wonder 
ful  things,  a  little  hand  enclosed  her  wrist  quite  tightly 
as  she  was  unpacking  the  boxes.  It  was  Robin's  and  the 
small  creature  looked  at  her  with  a  questioning,  half  ap 
pealing,  half  fierce. 

"Did  he  send  them,  Dowson?" 

"They  are  a  present  from  me,"  Dowson  answered  com 
fortably,  and  Robin  said  again, 

"I  want  to  kiss  you.    I  like  to  kiss  you.    I  do." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  179 

To  those  given  to  psychical  interests  and  specula 
tions,  it  might  have  suggested  itself  that,  on  the  night 
when  the  creature  who  had  seemed  to  Andrews  a  soft 
tissued  puppet  had  suddenly  burst  forth  into  defiance  and 
fearless  shrillness,  some  cerebral  change  had  taken  place 
in  her.  From  that  hour  her  softness  had  become  a  thing 
of  the  past.  Dowson  had  not  found  a  baby,  but  a  brood 
ing,  little,  passionate  being.  She  was  neither  insubor 
dinate  nor  irritable,  but  Dowson  was  conscious  of  a  cer 
tain  intensity  of  temperament  in  her.  She  knew  that  she 
was  always  thinking  of  things  of  which  she  said  almost 
nothing.  Only  a  sensible  motherly  curiosity,  such  as  Dow- 
son's  could  have  made  discoveries,  but  a  rare  question  put 
by  the  child  at  long  intervals  sometimes  threw  a  faint  light. 
There  were  questions  chiefly  concerning  mothers  and  their 
habits  and  customs.  They  were  such  as,  in  their  very  un 
consciousness,  revealed  a  strange  past  history.  Lights 
were  most  unconsciously  thrown  by  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless 
herself.  Her  quite  amiable  detachment  from  all  shadow 
of  responsibility,  her  brilliantly  unending  occupations,  her 
goings  in  and  out,  the  flocks  of  light,  almost  noisy,  inti 
mates  who  came  in  and  out  with  her  revealed  much  to  a 
respectable  person  who  had  soberly  watched  the  world. 

"The  Lady  Downstairs  is  my  mother,  isn't  she  ?"  Kobin 
inquired  gravely  once. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  was  Dowson's  answer. 

A  pause  for  consideration  of  the  matter  and  then  from 
Robin : 

"All  mothers  are  not  alike,  Dowson,  are  they?" 

"No,  my  dear,"  with  wisdom. 

Though  she  was  not  yet  seven,  life  had  so  changed  for 
her  that  it  was  a  far  cry  back  to  the  Spring  days  in  the 
Square  Gardens.  She  went  back,  however,  back  into  that 
remote  ecstatic  past. 


180  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"The  Lady  Downstairs  is  not — alike,"  she  said  at  last, 
"Donal's  mother  loved  him.  She  let  him  sit  in  the  same 
chair  with  her  and  read  in  picture  books.  She  kissed  him 
when  he  was  in  bed." 

Jennings,  the  young  footman  who  was  a  humourist,  had, 
of  course,  heard  witty  references  to  Eobin's  love  affair 
while  in  attendance,  and  he  had  equally,  of  course,  re 
peated  them  below  stairs.  Therefore,  Dowson  had  heard 
vague  rumours  but  had  tactfully  refrained  from  mention 
ing  the  subject  to  her  charge. 

"Who  was  Donal?"  she  said  now,  but  quite  quietly. 
Robin  did  not  know  that  a  confidante  would  have  made 
her  first  agony  easier  to  bear.  She  was  not  really  being 
confidential  now,  but,  realizing  Dowson's  comfortable 
kindliness,  she  knew  that  it  would  be  safe  to  speak  to  her. 

"He  was  a  big  boy,"  she  answered  keeping  her  eyes 
on  Dowson's  face.  "He  laughed  and  ran  and  jumped. 
His  eyes "  she  stopped  there  because  she  could  not  ex 
plain  what  she  had  wanted  to  say  about  these  joyous  young 
eyes,  which  were  the  first  friendly  human  ones  she  had 
ever  known. 

"He  lives  in  Scotland,"  she  began  again.  "His  mother 
loved  him.  He  kissed  me.  He  went  away.  Lord  Coombe 
sent  him." 

Dowson  could  not  help  her  start. 

"Lord  Coombe  !"    she  exclaimed. 

Robin  came  close  to  her  and  ground  her  little  fist  into 
her  knee,  until  its  plumpness  felt  almost  bruised. 

"He  is  bad — bad — bad!"  and  she  looked  like  a  little 
demon. 

Being  a  wise  woman,  Dowson  knew  at  once  that  she 
had  come  upon  a  hidden  child  volcano,  and  it  would  be 
well  to  let  it  seethe  into  silence.  She  was  not  a  clever 
person,  but  long  experience  had  taught  her  that  there 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  181 

were  occasions  when  it  was  well  to  leave  a  child  alone. 
This  one  would  not  answer  if  she  were  questioned.  She 
would  only  become  stubborn  and  furious,  and  no  child 
should  be  goaded  into  fury.  Dowson  had,  of  course, 
learned  that  the  boy  was  a  relative  of  his  lordship's  and 
had  a  strict  Scottish  mother  who  did  not  approve  of  the 
slice  of  a  house.  His  lordship  might  have  been  concerned 
in  the  matter — or  he  might  not.  But  at  least  Dowson 
had  gained  a  side  light.  And  how  the  little  thing  had 
cared !  Actually  as  if  she  had  been  a  grown  girl,  Dowson 
found  herself  thinking  uneasily. 

She  was  rendered  even  a  trifle  more  uneasy  a  few  days 
later  when  she  came  upon  Eobin  sitting  in  a  corner  on  a 
footstool  with  a  picture  book  on  her  knee,  and  she  recog 
nized  it  as  the  one  she  had  discovered  during  her  first 
exploitation  of  the  resources  of  the  third  floor  nursery. 
It  was  inscribed  "Donal"  and  Robin  was  not  looking  at 
it  alone,  but  at  something  she  held  in  her  hand — some 
thing  folded  in  a  crumpled,  untidy  bit  of  paper. 

Making  a  reason  for  nearing  her  corner,  Dowson  saw 
what  the  paper  held.  The  contents  looked  like  the  broken 
fragments  of  some  dried  leaves.  The  child  was  gazing 
at  them  with  a  piteous,  bewildered  face — so  piteous  that 
Dowson  was  sorry. 

"Do  you  want  to  keep  those  ?"    she  asked. 

"Yes,"  with  a  caught  breath.    "Yes," 

"I  will  make  you  a  little  silk  bag  to  hold  them  in," 
Dowson  said,  actually  feeling  rather  piteous  herself.  The 
poor,  little  lamb  with  her  picture  book  and  her  bits  of 
broken  dry  leaves — almost  like  senna. 

She  sat  down  near  her  and  Eobin  left  her  footstool 
and  came  to  her.  She  laid  the  picture  book  on  her  lap 
and  the  senna  like  fragments  of  leaves  on  its  open  page. 

"Donal  brought  it  to  show  me,"  she  quavered.     "He 


182  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

made  pretty  things  on  the  leaves — with  his  dirk/'  She 
recalled  too  much — too  much  all  at  once.  Her  eyes  grew 
rounder  and  larger  with  inescapable  woe;  "Donal  did! 
Donal  I"  And  suddenly  she  hid  her  face  deep  in.  Dowson's 
skirts  and  the  tempest  broke.  She  was  so  small  a  thing — 
so  inarticulate — and  these  were  her  dead !  Dowson  could 
only  catch  her  in  her  arms,  drag  her  up  on  her  knee,  and 
rock  her  to  and  fro. 

"Good  Lord !  Good  Lord  I"  was  her  inward  ejaculation. 
"And  she  not  seven  !  What'll  she  do  when  she's  seventeen ! 
She's  one  of  them  there's  no  help  for  I" 

It  was  the  beginning  of  an  affection.  After  this,  when 
Dowson  tucked  Eobin  in  bed  each  night,  she  kissed  her. 
She  told  her  stories  and  taught  her  to  sew  and  to  know 
her  letters.  Using  some  discretion  she  found  certain  little 
playmates  for  her  in  the  Gardens.  But  there  were  occa 
sions  when  all  did  not  go  well,  and  some  pretty,  friendly 
child,  who  had  played  with  Eobin  for  a  few  days,  suddenly 
seemed  to  be  kept  strictly  by  her  nurse's  side.  Once,  when 
she  was  about  ten  years  old,  a  newcomer,  a  dramatic  and 
too  richly  dressed  little  person,  after  a  day  of  wonderful 
imaginative  playing  appeared  in  the  Gardens  the  morn 
ing  following  to  turn  an  ostentatious  cold  shoulder. 

"What  is  the  matter?"    asked  Robin. 

"Oh,  we  can't  play  with  you  any  more,"  with  quite  a 
flounce  of  superiority. 

"Why  not?"    said  Robin,  becoming  haughty  herself. 

"We  can't.  It's  because  of  Lord  Coombe."  The 
flouncing  little  person  had  really  no  definite  knowledge 
of  how  Lord  Coombe  was  concerned,  but  certain  servants' 
whisperings  of  names  and  mysterious  phrases  had  con- 
yeyed  quite  an  enjoyable  effect  of  unknown  iniquity  con 
nected  with  his  lordship. 

Robin  said  nothing  to  Dowson,  but  walked  up  and  down 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  183 

the  paths  reflecting  and  building  a  slow  fire  which  would 
continue  to  burn  in  her  young  heart.  She  had  by  then 
passed  the  round,  soft  baby  period  and  had  entered  into 
that  phase  when  bodies  and  legs  grow  long  and  slender 
and  small  faces  lose  their  first  curves  and  begin  to  show 
sharper  modeling. 

Accepting  the  situation  in  its  entirety,  Dowson  had 
seen  that  it  was  well  to  first  reach  Lord  Coombe  with 
any  need  of  the  child's.  Afterwards,  the  form  of  present 
ing  it  to  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  must  be  gone  through,  but 
if  she  were  first  spoken  to  any  suggestion  might  be  for 
gotten  or  intentionally  ignored. 

Dowson  became  clever  in  her  calculations  as  to  when  his 
lordship  might  be  encountered  and  where — as  if  by 
chance,  and  therefore,  quite  respectfully.  Sometimes  she 
remotely  wondered  if  he  himself  did  not  make  such  en 
counters  easy  for  her.  But  his  manner  never  altered  in 
its  somewhat  stiff,  expressionless  chill  of  indifference.  He 
never  was  kindly  in  his  manner  to  the  child  if  he  met  her. 
Dowson  felt  him  at  once  casual  and  'lofty ."  Eobin  might 
have  been  a  bit  of  unconsidered  rubbish,  the  sight  of  which 
slightly  bored  him.  Yet  the  singular  fact  remained  that 
it  was  to  him  one  must  carefully  appeal. 

One  afternoon  Feather  swept  him,  with  one  or  two 
others,  into  the  sitting-room  with  the  round  window  in 
which  flowers  grew.  Eobin  was  sitting  at  a  low  table  mak 
ing  pothooks  with  a  lead  pencil  on  a  piece  of  paper  Dow 
son  had  given  her.  Dowson  had,  in  fact,  set  her  at  the 
task,  having  heard  from  Jennings  that  his  lordship  and 
the  other  afternoon  tea  drinkers  were  to  be  brought  into 
the  "Palace"  as  Feather  ironically  chose  to  call  it.  Jen 
nings  rather  liked  Dowson,  and  often  told  her  little  things 
she  wanted  to  know.  It  was  because  Lord  Coombe  would 
probably  come  in  with  the  rest  that  Dowson  had  set  the 


184  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

low,  white  table  in  the  round  window  and  suggested  the 
pothooks. 

In  course  of  time  there  was  a  fluttering  and  a  chatter 
in  the  corridor.  Feather  was  bringing  some  new  guests, 
who  had  not  seen  the  place  before. 

"This  is  where  my  daughter  lives.  She  is  much  grander 
than  I  am/'  she  said. 

"Stand  up,  Miss  Robin,  and  make  your  curtsey,"  whis 
pered  Dowson.  Robin  did  as  she  was  told,  and  Mrs. 
Gareth-Lawless*  pretty  brows  ran  up. 

"Look  at  her  legs,"  she  said.  "She's  growing  like 
Jack  and  the  Bean  Stalk — though,  I  suppose,  it  was  only 
the  Bean  Stalk  that  grew.  She'll  stick  through  the  top 
of  the  house  soon.  Look  at  her  legs,  I  ask  you." 

She  always  spoke  as  if  the  child  were  an  inanimate 
object  and  she  had,  by  this  time  and  by  this  means, 
managed  to  sweep  from  Robin's  mind  all  the  old,  babyish 
worship  of  her  loveliness  and  had  planted  in  its  place  an 
other  feeling.  At  this  moment  the  other  feeling  surged 
and  burned. 

"They  are  beautiful  legs,"  remarked  a  laughing  young 
man  jocularly,  "but  perhaps  she  does  not  particularly 
want  us  to  look  at  them.  Wait  until  she  begins  skirt 
dancing."  And  everybody  laughed  at  once  and  the  child 
stood  rigid — the  object  of  their  light  ridicule — not  herself 
knowing  that  her  whole  little  being  was  cursing  them 
aloud. 

Coombe  stepped  to  the  little  table  and  bestowed  a 
casual  glance  on  the  pencil  marks. 

"What  is  she  doing?"    he  asked  as  casually  of  Dowson. 

"She  is  learning  to  make  pothooks,  my  lord,"  Dowson 
answered.  "She's  a  child  that  wants  to  be  learning  things. 
I've  taught  her  her  letters  and  to  spell  little  words.  She's 
quick — and  old  enough,  your  lordship." 


THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  185 

"Learning  to  read  and  write!"  exclaimed  Feather, 
"Presumption,  I  call  it.  I  don't  know  how  to  read  and 
write — at  least  I  don't  know  how  to  spell.  Do  you  know 
how  to  spell,  Collie?"  to  the  young  man,  whose  name 
was  Colin.  "Do  you,  Genevieve?  Do  you,  Artie?" 

"You  can't  betray  me  into  vulgar  boasting,"  said  Collie. 
"Who  does  in  these  days?  Nobody  but  clerks  at  Peter 
Eobinson's." 

"Lord  Coombe  does — but  that's  his  tiresome  superior 
way,"  said  Feather. 

"He's  nearly  forty  years  older  than  most  of  you.  That 
is  the  reason,"  Coombe  commented.  "Don't  deplore  your 
youth  and  innocence." 

They  swept  through  the  rooms  and  examined  everything 
in  them.  The  truth  was  that  the — by  this  time  well 
known — fact  that  the  unexplainable  Coombe  had  built 
them  made  them  a  curiosity,  and  a  sort  of  secret  source 
of  jokes.  The  party  even  mounted  to  the  upper  story  to 
go  through  the  bedrooms,  and,  it  was  while  they  were 
doing  this,  that  Coombe  chose  to  linger  behind  with  Dow- 
son. 

He  remained  entirely  expressionless  for  a  few  moments. 
Dowson  did  not  in  the  least  gather  whether  he  meant  to 
speak  to  her  or  not.  But  he  did. 

"You  meant,"  he  scarcely  glanced  at  her,  "that  she 
was  old  enough  for  a  governess." 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  rather  breathless  in  her  hurry  to  speak 
before  she  heard  the  high  heels  tapping  on  the  staircase 
again.  "And  one  that's  a  good  woman  as  well  as  clever, 
if  I  may  take  the  liberty.  A  good  one  if " 

"If  a  good  one  would  take  the  place  ?" 

Dowson  did  not  attempt  refutation  or  apology.  She 
knew  better. 

H«  said  no  more,  but  sauntered  out  of  the  room. 


186  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

As  he  did  so,  Robin  stood  up  and  made  the  little 
"charity  bob"  of  a  curtsey  which  had  been  part  of  her 
nursery  education.  She  was  too  old  now  to  have  refused 
him  her  hand,  but  he  never  made  any  advances  to  her. 
He  acknowledged  her  curtsey  with  the  briefest  nod. 

Not  three  minutes  later  the  high  heels  came  tapping 
down  the  staircase  and  the  small  gust  of  visitors  swept 
away  also. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  interview  which  took  place  between  Feather 
and  Lord  Coombe  a  few  days  later  had  its  own 
special  character. 

"A  governess  will  come  here  tomorrow  at  eleven  o'clock," 
he  said.  "She  is  a  Mademoiselle  Valle.  She  is  accus 
tomed  to  the  educating  of  young  children.  She  will  pre 
sent  herself  for  your  approval.  Benby  has  done  all  the 
rest." 

Feather  flushed  to  her  fine-spun  ash-gold  hair. 

"What  on  earth  can  it  matter  I"    she  cried. 

"It  does  not  matter  to  you/'  he  answered ;  "it  chances — 
for  the  time  being — to  matter  to  me." 

"Chances  V  she  flamed  forth —  it  was  really  a  queer 
little  flame  of  feeling.  "That's  it.  You  don't  really 
care !  It's  a  caprice — just  because  you  see  she  is  going  to 
be  pretty." 

"I'll  own/'  he  admitted,  "that  has  a  great  deal  to  do 
with  it." 

"It  has  everything  to  do  with  it,"  she  threw  out.  "If 
she  had  a  snub  nose  and  thick  legs  you  wouldn't  care  for 
her  at  all." 

"I  don't  say  that  I  do  care  for  her,"  without  emotion. 
"The  situation  interests  me.  Here  is  an  extraordinary 
little  being  thrown  into  the  world.  She  belongs  to  nobody. 
She  will  have  to  fight  for  her  own  hand.  And  she  will 
have  to  fight,  by  God !  With  that  dewy  lure  in  her  eyes 
and  her  curved  pomegranate  mouth !  She  will  not  know, 
but  she  will  draw  disaster !" 

187 


188  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Then  she  had  better  not  be  taught  anything  at  all," 
said  Feather.  "It  would  be  an  amusing  thing  to  let  her 
grow  up  without  learning  to  read  or  write  at  all.  I  know 
numbers  of  men  who  would  like  the  novelty  of  it.  Girls 
who  know  so  much  are  a  bore." 

"There  are  a  few  minor  chances  she  ought  to  have," 
said  Coombe.  "A  governess  is  one.  Mademoiselle  Valle 
will  be  here  at  eleven." 

"I  can't  see  that  she  promises  to  be  such  a  beauty," 
fretted  Feather.  "She's  the  kind  of  good  looking  child 
who  might  grow  up  into  a  fat  girl  with  staring  black 
eyes  like  a  barmaid." 

"Occasionally  pretty  women  do  abhor  their  growing  up 
daughters,"  commented  Coombe  letting  his  eyes  rest  on 
her  interestedly. 

"I  don't  abhor  her,"  with  pathos  touched  with  venom. 
"But  a  big,  lumping  girl  hanging  about  ogling  and  want 
ing  to  be  ogled  when  she  is  passing  through  that  silly 
age!  And  sometimes  you  speak  to  me  as  a  man  speaks 
to  his  wife  when  he  is  tired  of  her." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Coombe  said.  "You  make  me 
feel  like  a  person  who  lives  over  a  shop  at  Knightsbridge, 
or  in  bijou  mansion  off  Eegent's  Park." 

But  he  was  deeply  aware  that,  as  an  outcome  of  the 
anomalous  position  he  occupied,  he  not  infrequently  felt 
exactly  this. 

That  a  governess  chosen  by  Coombe — though  he  would 
seem  not  to  appear  in  the  matter — would  preside  over  the 
new  rooms,  Feather  knew  without  a  shadow  of  doubt. 

A  certain  almost  silent  and  always  high-bred  dominance 
over  her  existence  she  accepted  as  the  inevitable,  even 
while  she  fretted  helplessly.  Without  him,  she  would  be 
tossed,  a  broken  butterfly,  into  the  gutter.  She  knew  her 
London.  No  one  would  pick  her  up  unless  to  break  her 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  189 

into  smaller  atoms  and  toss  her  away  again.  The  freedom 
he  allowed  her  after  all  was  wonderful.  It  was  because 
he  disdained  interference. 

But  there  was  a  line  not  to  be  crossed — there  must  not 
even  be  an  attempt  at  crossing  it.  Why  he  cared  about 
that  she  did  not  know. 

"You  must  be  like  Caesar's  wife,"  he  said  rather  grim 
ly,  after  an  interview  in  which  he  had  given  her  a  certain 
unsparing  warning. 

"And  I  am  nobody's  wife.  What  did  Caesar's  wife 
do?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing."  And  he  told  her  the  story  and,  when  she 
had  heard  him  tell  it,  she  understood  certain  things  clear- 

ly. 

Mademoiselle  Valle  was  an  intelligent,  mature  French 
woman.  She  presented  herself  to  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless 
for  inspection  and,  in  ten  minutes,  realized  that  the 
power  to  inspect  and  sum  up  existed  only  on  her  own  side. 
This  pretty  woman  neither  knew  what  inquiries  to  make 
nor  cared  for  such  replies  as  were  given.  Being  swift  to 
reason  and  practical  in  deduction,  Mademoiselle  Valle  did 
not  make  the  blunder  of  deciding  that  this  light  presence 
argued  that  she  would  be  under  no  supervision  more  seri 
ous.  The  excellent  Benby,  one  was  made  aware,  acted 
and  the  excellent  Benby,  one  was  made  aware,  acted  under 
clearly  defined  orders.  Milord  Coombe — among  other 
things  the  best  dressed  and  perhaps  the  least  compre 
hended  man  in  London — was  concerned  in  this,  though 
on  what  grounds  practical  persons  could  not  explain  to 
themselves.  His  connection  with  the  narrow  house  on  the 
right  side  of  the  right  street  was  entirely  comprehensible. 
The  lenient  felt  nothing  blatant  or  objectionable  about  it. 
Mademoiselle  Valle  herself  was  not  disturbed  by  mere 
rumour.  The  education,  manner  and  morals  of  the  little 


190  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

girl  she  could  account  for.  These  alone  were  to  be  her 
affair,  and  she  was  competent  to  undertake  their  superin 
tendence. 

Therefore,  she  sat  and  listened  with  respectful  intelli 
gence  to  the  birdlike  chatter  of  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless. 
(What  a  pretty  woman !  The  silhouette  of  a  jeune  fille!) 

Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  felt  that,  on  her  part,  she  had 
done  all  that  was  required  of  her. 

"I'm  afraid  she's  rather  a  dull  child,  Mademoiselle," 
she  said  in  farewell.  "You  know  children's  ways  and  you'll 
understand  what  I  mean.  She  has  a  trick  of  staring  and 
saying  nothing.  I  confess  I  wish  she  wasn't  dull." 

"It  is  impossible,  madame,  that  she  should  be  dull," 
said  Mademoiselle,  with  an  agreeably  implicating  smile. 
"Oh,  but  quite  impossible !  We  shall  see." 

Not  many  days  had  passed  before  she  had  seen  much. 
At  the  outset,  she  recognized  the  effect  of  the  little  girl 
with  the  slender  legs  and  feet  and  the  dozen  or  so  of  points 
which  go  to  make  a  beauty.  The  intense  eyes  first  and  the 
deeps  of  them.  They  gave  one  furiously  to  think  before 
making  up  one's  mind.  Then  she  noted  the  perfection 
of  the  rooms  added  to  the  smartly  inconvenient  little 
house.  Where  had  the  child  lived  before  the  addition  had 
been  built  ?  Thought  and  actual  architectural  genius  only 
could  have  done  this.  Light  and  even  as  much  sunshine 
as  London  will  vouchsafe,  had  been  arranged  for.  Com 
fort,  convenience,  luxury,  had  been  provided.  Perfect 
colour  and  excellent  texture  had  evoked  actual  charm. 
Its  utter  unlikeness  to  the  quarters  London  usually  gives 
to  children,  even  of  the  fortunate  class,  struck  Mademoi 
selle  Valle  at  once.  Madame  Gareth-Lawless  had  not  done 
this.  Who  then,  had  ? 

The  good  Dowson  she  at  once  affiliated  with.  She  knew 
the  excellence  of  her  type  as  it  had  revealed  itself  to  her 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  191 

in  the  best  peasant  class.  Trustworthy,  simple,  but  of 
kindly,  shrewd  good  sense  and  with  the  power  to  observe. 
Dowson  was  not  a  chatterer  or  given  to  gossip,  but,  as  a 
silent  observer,  she  would  know  many  things  and,  in  time, 
when  they  had  become  friendly  enough  to  be  fully  aware 
that  each  might  trust  the  other,  gentle  and  careful  talk 
would  end  in  unconscious  revelation  being  made  by 
Dowson. 

That  the  little  girl  was  almost  singularly  attached  to  her 
nurse,  she  had  marked  early.  There  was  something  un 
usual  in  her  manifestations  of  her  feeling.  The  intense 
eyes  followed  the  woman  often,  as  if  making  sure  of  her 
presence  and  reality.  The  first  day  of  Mademoiselle's 
residence  in  the  place  she  saw  the  little  thing  suddenly 
stop  playing  with  her  doll  and  look  at  Dowson  earnestly 
for  several  moments.  Then  she  left  her  seat  and  went  to 
the  kind  creature's  side. 

"I  want  to  kiss  you,  Dowie,"  she  said. 

"To  be  sure,  my  lamb,"  answered  Dowson,  and,  laying 
down  her  mending,  she  gave  her  a  motherly  hug.  After 
which  Eobin  went  back  contentedly  to  her  play. 

The  Frenchwoman  thought  it  a  pretty  bit  of  childish 
affectionateness.  But  it  happened  more  than  once  during 
the  day,  and  at  night  Mademoiselle  commented  upon  it. 

"She  has  an  affectionate  heart,  the  little  one,"  she  re 
marked.  "Madame,  her  mother,  is  so  pretty  and  full  of 
gaieties  and  pleasures  that  I  should  not  have  imagined  she 
had  much  time  for  caresses  and  the  nursery." 

Even  by  this  time  Dowson  had  realized  that  with  Made 
moiselle  she  was  upon  safe  ground  and  was  in  no  danger  of 
betraying  herself  to  a  gossip.  She  quietly  laid  down  her 
sewing  and  looked  at  her  companion  with  grave  eyes. 

"Her  mother  has  never  kissed  her  in  her  life  that  I  am 
aware  of/'  she  said. 


192  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Has    never — !"    Mademoiselle    ejaculated.     "Never!" 

"Just  as  you  see  her,  she  is,  Mademoiselle,"  Dowson 
said.  "Any  sensible  woman  would  know,  when  she  heard 
her  talk  about  hef  child.  I  found  it  all  out  bit  by  bit 
when  first  I  came  here.  I'm  going  to  talk  plain  and  have 
done  with  it.  Her  first  six  years  she  spent  in  a  sort  of 
dog  kennel  on  the  top  floor  of  this  house.  No  sun,  no  real 
fresh  air.  Two  little  holes  that  were  dingy  and  gloomy 
enough  to  dull  a  child's  senses.  Not  a  toy  or  a  bit  of 
colour  or  a  picture,  but  clothes  fine  enough  for  Bucking 
ham  Palace  children — and  enough  for  six.  Fed  and 
washed  and  taken  out  every  day  to  be  shown  off.  And  a 
bad  nurse,  Miss — a  bad  one  that  kept  her  quiet  by  pinching 
her  black  and  blue." 

"Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!  That  little  angel!"  cried 
Mademoiselle,  covering  her  eyes. 

Dowson  hastily  wiped  her  own  eyes.  She  had  shed 
many  a  motherly  tear  over  the  child.  It  was  a  relief  to 
her  to  open  her  heart  to  a  sympathizer. 

"Black  and  blue!"  she  repeated.  "And  laughing  and 
dancing  and  all  sorts  of  fast  fun  going  on  in  the  drawing- 
rooms."  She  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  Mademoiselle's 
arm  quite  fiercely.  "The  little  thing  didn't  know  she  had 
a  mother!  She  didn't  know  what  the  word  meant.  I 
found  that  out  by  her  innocent  talk.  She  used  to  call  her 
"The  Lady  Downstairs'." 

"Mon  Dieu!"  cried  the  Frenchwoman  again.  "What  a 
woman !" 

"She  first  heard  of  mothers  from  a  little  boy  she  met 
in  the  Square  Gardens.  He  was  the  first  child  she  had 
been  allowed  to  play  with.  He  was  a  nice  child  and  he 
had  a  good  mother.  I  only  got  it  bit  by  bit  when  she 
didn't  know  how  much  she  was  telling  me.  He  told  her 
about  mothers  and  he  kissed  her — for  the  first  time  in  her 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  193 

life.  She  didn't  understand  but  it  warmed  her  little  heart. 
She's  never  forgotten." 

Mademoiselle  even  started  slightly  in  her  chair.  Being 
a  clever  Frenchwoman  she  felt  drama  and  all  its  subtle 
accompaniments. 

"Is  that  why "  she  began. 

"It  is,"  answered  Dowson,  stoutly.  "A  kiss  isn't  an 
ordinary  thing  to  her.  It  means  something  wonderful. 
She's  got  into  the  way  of  loving  me,  bless  her,  and  every 
now  and  then,  it's  my  opinion,  she  suddenly  remembers 
her  lonely  days  when  she  didn't  know  what  love  was. 
And  it  just  wells  up  in  her  little  heart  and  she  wants  to 
kiss  me.  She  always  says  it  that  way,  'Dowie,  I  want  to 
kiss  you,'  as  if  it  was  something  strange  and,  so  to  say, 
sacred.  She  doesn't  know  it  means  almost  nothing  to 
most  people.  That's  why  I  always  lay  down  my  work  and 
hug  her  close." 

"You  have  a  good  heart — a  good  one!"  said  Made' 
moiselle  with  strong  feeling. 

Then  she  put  a  question : 

"Who  was  the  little  boy?" 

"He  was  a  relation  of — his  lordship's." 

"His  lordship's?"  cautiously. 

"The  Marquis.     Lord  Coombe." 

There  was  a  few  minutes'  silence.  Both  women  were 
thinking  of  a  number  of  things  and  each  was  asking  her 
self  how  much  it  would  be  wise  to  say. 

It  was  Dowson  who  made  her  decision  first,  and  this 
time,  as  before,  she  laid  down  her  work.  What  she  had 
to  convey  was  the  thing  which,  above  all  others,  the  French 
woman  must  understand  if  she  was  to  be  able  to  use  her 
power  to  its  best  effect. 

"A  woman  in  my  place  hears  enough  talk,"  was  her 
beginning.  "Servants  are  given  to  it.  The  Servants' 


194  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Hall  is  their  theatre.  It  doesn't  matter  whether  tales  are 
true  or  not,  so  that  they're  spicy.  But  it's  been  my  way 
to  credit  just  as  much  as  I  see  and  know  and  to  say  little 
about  that.  If  a  woman  takes  a  place  in  a  house,  let  her 
go  or  stay  as  suits  her  best,  but  don't  let  her  stay  and 
either  complain  or  gossip.  My  business  here  is  Miss 
Robin,  and  I've  found  out  for  myself  that  there's  just  one 
person  that,  in  a  queer,  unfeeling  way  of  his  own,  has  a 
fancy  for  looking  after  her.  I  say  'unfeeling'  because 
he  never  shows  any  human  signs  of  caring  for  the  child 
herself.  But  if  there's  a  thing  that  ought  to  be  done  for 
her  and  a  body  can  contrive  to  let  him  know  it's  needed, 
it'll  be  done.  Downstairs'  talk  that  I've  seemed  to  pay  no 
attention  to  has  let  out  that  it  was  him  that  walked  quietly 
upstairs  to  the  Nursery,  where  he'd  never  set  foot  before, 
and  opened  the  door  on  Andrews  pinching  the  child.  She 
packed  her  box  and  left  that  night.  He  inspected  the 
nurseries  and,  in  a  few  days,  an  architect  was  planning 
these  rooms, — for  Miss  Eobin  and  for  no  one  else,  though 
there  was  others  wanted  them.  It  was  him  that  told  me 
to  order  her  books  and  playthings — and  not  let  her  know 
it  because  she  hates  him.  It  was  him  I  told  she  needed 
a  governess.  And  he  found  you." 

Mademoiselle  Valle  had  listened  with  profound  atten 
tion.     Here  she  spoke. 

"You  say  continually  Tie'  or  Tlim'.  He  is — ?" 
"Lord  Coombe.  I'm  not  saying  I've  seen  much  of  him. 
Considering — "  Dowson  paused — "it's  queer  how  seldom 
he  comes  here.  He  goes  abroad  a  good  deal.  He's  mixed 
up  with  the  highest  and  it's  said  he's  in  favour  because 
he's  satirical  and  clever.  He's  one  that's  gossiped  about 
and  he  cares  nothing  for  what's  said.  What  business  of 
mine  is  it  whether  or  not  he  has  all  sorts  of  dens  on  the 
Continent  where  he  goes  to  racket.  He  might  be  a  bishop 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  195 

for  all  I  see.  And  he's  the  only  creature  in  this  world 
of  the  Almighty's  that  remembers  that  child's  a  human 
being.  Just  him — Lord  Coombe.  There,  Mademoiselle, 
— I've  said  a  good  deal." 

More  and  more  interestedly  had  the  Frenchwoman 
listened  and  with  an  increasing  hint  of  curiosity  in  her 
intelligent  eyes.  She  pressed  Dowson's  needle-roughened 
fingers  warmly. 

"You  have  not  said  too  much.  It  is  well  that  I  should 
know  this  of  this  gentleman.  As  you  say,  he  is  a  man 
who  is  much  discussed.  I  myself  have  heard  much  of 
him — but  of  things  connected  with  another  part  of  his 
character.  It  is  true  that  he  is  in  favour  with  great 
personages.  It  is  because  they  are  aware  that  he  has 
observed  much  for  many  years.  He  is  light  and  ironic, 
but  he  tells  truths  which  sometimes  startle  those  who  hear 
them." 

"Jennings  tells  below  stairs  that  he  says  things  it's  queer 
for  a  lord  to  say.  Jennings  is  a  sharp  young  snip  and 
likes  to  pick  up  things  to  repeat.  He  believes  that  his 
lordship's  idea  is  that  there's  a  time  coming  when  the 
high  ones  will  lose  their  places  and  thrones  and  kings 
will  be  done  away  with.  I  wouldn't  like  to  go  that  far 
myself,"  said  Dowson,  gravely,  "but  I  must  say  that  there's 
not  that  serious  respect  paid  to  Eoyalty  that  there  was  in 
my  young  days.  My  word !  When  Queen  Victoria  was 
in  her  prime,  with  all  her  young  family  around  her, — their 
little  Royal  Highnesses  that  were  princes  in  their  High 
land  kilts  and  the  princesses  in  their  crinolines  and  hats 
with  drooping  ostrich  feathers  and  broad  satin  streamers — 
the  people  just  went  wild  when  she  went  to  a  place  to 
unveil  anything !" 

"When  the  Empress  Eugenie  and  the  Prince  Imperial 
appeared,  it  was  the  same  thing,"  said  Mademoiselle,  a 


196  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

trifle  sadly.  "One  recalls  it  now  as  a  dream  passed  away — 
the  Champs  Elysees  in  the  afternoon  sunlight — the  imper 
ial  carriage  and  the  glittering  escort  trotting  gaily — the 
beautiful  woman  with  the  always  beautiful  costumes — her 
charming  smile — the  Emperor,  with  his  waxed  moustache 
and  saturnine  face !  It  meant  so  much  and  it  went  so 
quickly.  One  moment,"  she  made  a  little  gesture,  "and 
it  is  gone — forever !  An  Empire  and  all  the  splendour  of 
it !  Two  centuries  ago  it  could  not  have  disappeared  so 
quickly.  But  now  the  world  is  older.  It  does  not  need 
toys  so  much.  A  Eepublic  is  the  people — and  there  are 
more  people  than  kings." 

"It's  things  like  that  his  lordship  says,  according  to 
Jennings,"  said  Dowson.  "Jennings  is  never  quite  sure 
he's  in  earnest.  He  has  a  satirical  way — And  the 
company  always  laugh." 

Mademoiselle  had  spoken  thoughtfully  and  as  if  half 
to  her  inner  self  instead  of  to  Dowson.  She  added  some 
thing  even  more  thoughtfully  now. 

"The  same  kind  of  people  laughed  before  the  French 
Eevolution,"  she  murmured. 

"I'm  not  scholar  enough  to  know  much  about  that — 
that  was  a  long  time  ago,  wasn't  it?"  Dowson  remarked. 

"A  long  time  ago,"  said  Mademoiselle. 

Dowson's  reply  was  quite  free  from  tragic  reminiscence. 

"Well,  I  must  say,  I  like  a  respectable  Eoyal  Family 
myself,"  she  observed.  "There's  something  solid  and  com 
fortable  about  it — besides  the  coronations  and  weddings 
and  procession  with  all  the  pictures  in  the  Illustrated 
London  News.  Give  me  a  nice,  well-behaved  Eoyal 
Family." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ASTICE,  well-behaved  Royal  Family."  There  had 
been  several  of  them  in  Europe  for  some  time.  An 
appreciable  number  of  them  had  prided  themselves, 
even  a  shade  ostentatiously,  upon  their  domesticity.  The 
moral  views  of  a  few  had  been  believed  to  border  upon  the 
high  principles  inscribed  in  copy  books.  Some,  however, 
had  not.  A  more  important  power  or  so  had  veered  from 
the  exact  following  of  these  commendable  axioms — had 
high-handedly  behaved  according  to  their  royal  will  and 
tastes.  But  what  would  you?  With  a  nation  making 
proper  obeisance  before  one  from  infancy;  with  trumpets 
blaring  forth  joyous  strains  upon  one's  mere  appearance 
on  any  scene ;  with  the  proudest  necks  bowed  and  the  most 
superb  curtseys  swept  on  one's  mere  passing  by,  with  all 
the  splendour  of  the  Opera  on  gala  night  rising  to  its  feet 
to  salute  one's  mere  entry  into  the  royal  or  imperial  box, 
while  the  national  anthem  bursts  forth  with  adulatory 
and  triumphant  strains,  only  a  keen  and  subtle  sense  of 
humour,  surely,  could  curb  errors  of  judgment  arising 
from  naturally  mistaken  views  of  one's  own  importance 
and  value  to  the  entire  Universe.  Still  there  remained  the 
fact  that  a  number  of  them  were  well-behaved  and  could 
not  be  complained  of  as  bearing  any  likeness  to  the  blood 
thirsty  tyrants  and  oppressors  of  past  centuries. 

The  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  had  attended  the 
Court  Functions  and  been  received  at  the  palaces  and 
castles  of  most  of  them.  For  in  that  aspect  of  his 
character  of  which  Mademoiselle  Valle  had  heard  more 

197 


198  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

than  Dowson,  he  was  intimate  with  well-known  and  much- 
observed  personages  and  places.  A  man  born  among  those 
whose  daily  life  builds,  as  it  passes,  at  least  a  part  of  that 
which  makes  history  and  so  records  itself,  must  needs  find 
companions,  acquaintances,  enemies,  friends  of  varied 
character,  and  if  he  be,  by  chance,  a  keen  observer  of 
passing  panoramas,  can  lack  no  material  for  private  reflec 
tion  and  the  accumulation  of  important  facts. 

That  part  of  his  existence  which  connected  itself  with 
the  slice  of  a  house  on  the  right  side  of  the  Mayfair  street 
was  but  a  small  one.  A  feature  of  the  untranslatableness 
of  his  character  was  that  he  was  seen  there  but  seldom. 
His  early  habit  of  crossing  the  Channel  frequently  had 
gradually  reestablished  itself  as  years  passed.  Among  his 
acquaintances  his  "Saturday  to  Monday  visits"  to  conti 
nental  cities  remote  or  unremote  were  discussed  with 
humour.  Possibly,  upon  these  discussions,  were  finally 
founded  the  rumours  of  which  Dowson  had  heard  but 
which  she  had  impartially  declined  to  "credit".  Lively 
conjecture  inevitably  figured  largely  in  their  arguments 
and,  when  persons  of  unrestrained  wit  devote  their  atten 
tion  to  airy  persiflage,  much  may  be  included  in  their 
points  of  view. 

Of  these  conjectural  discussions  no  one  was  more  clearly 
aware  than  Coombe  himself,  and  the  finished  facility — 
even  felicity — of  his  evasion  of  any  attempt  at  delicately 
veiled  cross  examination  was  felt  to  be  inhumanly  exasper 
ating. 

In  one  of  the  older  Squares  which  still  remained  stately, 
though  the  splendour  of  modern  fashion  had  waned  in  its 
neighbourhood,  there  was  among  the  gloomy,  though  im 
posing,  houses  one  in  particular  upon  whose  broad  door 
steps — years  before  the  Gareth-Lawlesses  had  appeared  in 
London — Lord  Coombe  stood  oftener  than  upon  any  other. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  199 

At  times  his  brougham  waited  before  it  for  hours,  and,  at 
others,  he  appeared  on  foot  and  lifted  the  heavy  knocker 
with  a  special  accustomed  knock  recognized  at  once  by  any 
footman  in  waiting  in  the  hall,  who,  hearing  it,  knew  that 
his  mistress — the  old  Dowager  Duchess  of  Darte — would 
receive  this  visitor,  if  no  other. 

The  interior  of  the  house  was  of  the  type  which,  having 
from  the  first  been  massive  and  richly  sombre,  had 
mellowed  into  a  darker  sombreness  and  richness  as  it  had 
stood  unmoved  amid  London  years  and  fogs.  The 
grandeur  of  decoration  and  furnishing  had  been  too  solid 
to  depreciate  through  decay,  and  its  owner  had  been  of  no 
fickle  mind  led  to  waver  in  taste  by  whims  of  fashion. 
The  rooms  were  huge  and  lofty,  the  halls  and  stairways 
spacious,  the  fireplaces  furnished  with  immense  grates 
of  glittering  steel,  which  held  in  winter  beds  of  scarlet 
glowing  coal,  kept  scarlet  glowing  by  a  special  footman 
whose  being,  so  to  speak,  depended  on  his  fidelity  to  his 
task. 

There  were  many  rooms  whose  doors  were  kept  closed 
because  they  were  apparently  never  used ;  there  were  others 
as  little  used  but  thrown  open,  warmed  and  brightened  with 
flowers  each  day,  because  the  Duchess  chose  to  catch 
glimpses  of  their  cheerfulness  as  she  passed  them  on  her 
way  up  or  downstairs.  The  house  was  her  own  property, 
and,  after  her  widowhood,  when  it  was  emptied  of  her 
children  by  their  admirable  marriages,  and  she  herself 
became  Dowager  and,  later,  a  confirmed  rheumatic  invalid, 
it  became  doubly  her  home  and  was  governed  by  her 
slightest  whim.  She  was  not  indeed  an  old  woman  of 
caprices,  but  her  tastes,  not  being  those  of  the  later  day  in 
which  she  now  lived,  were  regarded  as  a  shade  eccentric 
being  firmly  defined. 

"I  will  not  have  my  house  glaring  with  electricity  as  if 


200  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

it  were  a  shop.  In  my  own  rooms  I  will  be  lighted  by 
wax  candles.  Large  ones — as  many  as  you  please,"  she 
said.  "I  will  not  be  'rung  up'  by  telephone.  My  servants 
may  if  they  like.  It  is  not  my  affair  to  deprive  them  of 
the  modern  inconveniences,  if  they  find  them  convenient. 
My  senility  does  not  take  the  form  of  insisting  that  the 
world  shall  cease  to  revolve  upon  its  axis.  It  formed  that 
habit  without  my  assistance,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it 
would  continue  it  in  the  face  of  my  protests." 

It  was,  in  fact,  solely  that  portion  of  the  world  affecting 
herself  alone  which  she  preferred  to  retain  as  it  had  been 
in  the  brilliant  early  years  of  her  life.  She  had  been  a 
great  beauty  and  also  a  wit  in  the  Court  over  which  Queen 
Victoria  had  reigned.  She  had  possessed  the  delicate  high 
nose,  the  soft  full  eyes,  the  "polished  forehead/'  the  sloping 
white  shoulders  from  which  scarves  floated  or  India  shawls 
gracefully  drooped  in  the  Books  of  Beauty  of  the  day. 
Her  carriage  had  been  noble,  her  bloom  perfect,  and, 
when  she  had  driven  through  the  streets  "in  attendance" 
on  her  Eoyal  Mistress,  the  populace  had  always  chosen  her 
as  "the  pick  of  'em  all".  Young  as  she  had  then  been, 
elderly  statesmen  had  found  her  worth  talking  to,  not  as 
a  mere  beauty  in  her  teens,  but  as  a  creature  of  singular 
brilliance  and  clarity  of  outlook  upon  a  world  which  might 
have  dazzled  her  youth.  The  most  renowned  among  them 
had  said  of  her,  before  she  was  twenty,  that  she  would 
live  to  be  one  of  the  cleverest  women  in  Europe,  and  that 
she  had  already  the  logical  outlook  of  a  just  man  of  fifty. 

She  married  early  and  was  widowed  in  middle  life.  In 
her  later  years  rheumatic  fever  so  far  disabled  her  as  to 
confine  her  to  her  chair  almost  entirely.  Her  sons  and 
daughter  had  homes  and  families  of  their  own  to  engage 
them.  She  would  not  allow  them  to  sacrifice  themselves 
to  her  because  her  life  had  altered  its  aspect. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  201 

"I  have  money,  friends,  good  servants  and  a  house  I 
particularly  like,"  she  summed  the  matter  up;  "I  may  be 
condemned  to  sit  by  the  fire,  but  I  am  not  condemned  to 
be  a  bore  to  my  inoffensive  family.  I  can  still  talk  and 
read,  and  I  shall  train  myself  to  become  a  professional 
listener.  This  will  attract.  I  shall  not  only  read  myself, 
but  I  will  be  read  to.  A  strong  young  man  with  a  nice 
voice  shall  bring  magazines  and  books  to  me  every  day,  and 
shall  read  the  best  things  aloud.  Delightful  people  will 
drop  in  to  see  me  and  will  be  amazed  by  my  fund  of 
information." 

It  was  during  the  first  years  of  her  enforced  seclusion 
that  Coombe's  intimacy  with  her  began.  He  had  known 
her  during  certain  black  days  of  his  youth,  and  she  had 
comprehended  things  he  did  not  tell  her.  She  had  not 
spoken  of  them  to  him  but  she  had  silently  given  him  of 
something  which  vaguely  drew  him  to  her  side  when  dark 
ness  seemed  to  overwhelm  him.  The  occupations  of  her 
life  left  her  in  those  earlier  days  little  leisure  for  close 
intimacies,  but,  when  she  began  to  sit  by  her  fire  letting 
the  busy  world  pass  by,  he  gradually  became  one  of  those 
who  "dropped  in". 

In  one  of  the  huge  rooms  she  had  chosen  for  her  own 
daily  use,  by  the  well-tended  fire  in  its  shining  grate,  she 
had  created  an  agreeable  corner  where  she  sat  in  a  chair 
marvellous  for  ease  and  comfort,  enclosed  from  draughts 
by  a  fire  screen  of  antique  Chinese  lacquer,  a  table  by  her 
side  and  all  she  required  within  her  reach.  Upon  the 
table  stood  a  silver  bell  and,  at  its  sound,  her  companion, 
her  reader,  her  maid  or  her  personally  trained  footman, 
came  and  went  quietly  and  promptly  as  if  summoned  by 
magic.  Her  life  itself  was  simple,  but  a  certain  almost 
royal  dignity  surrounded  her  loneliness.  Her  companion, 
Miss  Brent,  an  intelligent,  mature  woman  who  had  known 


202  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

a  hard  and  pinched  life,  found  at  once  comfort  and  savoui- 
in  it. 

"It  is  not  I  who  am  expensive," — this  in  one  of  her  talks 
with  Coombe,  "but  to  live  in  a  house  of  this  size,  well  kept 
by  excellent  servants  who  are  satisfied  with  their  lot,  is 
not  a  frugal  thing.  A  cup  of  tea  for  those  of  my  friends 
who  run  in  to  warm  themselves  by  my  fire  in  the  after 
noon  ;  a  dinner  or  so  when  I  am  well  enough  to  sit  at  the 
head  of  my  table,  represent  almost  all  I  now  do  for  the 
world.  Naturally,  I  must  see  that  my  tea  is  good  and  that 
my  dinners  cannot  be  objected  to.  Nevertheless,  I  sit 
here  in  my  chair  and  save  money — for  what?" 

Among  those  who  "warmed  themselves  by  her  fire"  this 
man  had  singularly  become  her  friend  and  intimate. 
When  they  had  time  to  explore  each  other's  minds,  they 
came  upon  curious  discoveries  of  hidden  sympathies  and 
mutual  comprehensions  which  were  rich  treasures.  They 
talked  of  absorbing  things  with  frankness.  He  came  to 
sit  with  her  when  others  were  not  admitted  because  she 
was  in  pain  or  fatigued.  He  added  to  neither. her  fatigue 
nor  her  pain,  but  rather  helped  her  to  forget  them. 

"For  what?"  he  answered  on  this  day.  "Why  not  for 
your  grandchildren?" 

"They  will  all  have  too  much  money.  There  are  only 
four  of  them.  They  will  make  great  marriages  as  their 
parents  did,"  she  said.  She  paused  a  second  before  she 
added,  "Unless  our  World  Kevolution  has  broken  into 
flame  by  that  time — And  there  are  no  longer  any  great 
marriages  to  make." 

For  among  the  many  things  they  dwelt  on  in  their  talks 
alone,  was  the  Chessboard,  which  was  the  Map  of  Europe, 
over  which  he  had  watched  for  many  years  certain  hands 
hover  in  tentative  experimenting  as  to  the  possibilities  of 
the  removal  of  the  pieces  from  one  square  to  another. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  203 

She,  too,  from  her  youth  had  watched  the  game  with  an 
interest  which  had  not  waned  in  her  maturity,  and  which, 
in  her  days  of  sitting  by  the  fire,  had  increased  with  every 
move  the  hovering  hands  made.  She  had  been  familiar 
with  political  parties  and  their  leaders,  she  had  met  heroes 
and  statesmen;  she  had  seen  an  unimportant  prince  be 
come  an  emperor,  who,  from  his  green  and  boastful  youth, 
aspired  to  rule  the  world  and  whose  theatrical  obsession 
had  been  the  sly  jest  of  unwary  nations,  too  carelessl}' 
sure  of  the  advance  of  civilization  and  too  indifferently 
self-indulgent  to  realize  that  a  monomaniac,  even  if  treated 
as  a  source  of  humour,  is  a  perilous  thing  to  leave  un- 
watched.  She  had  known  France  in  all  the  glitter  of  its 
showy  Empire,  and  had  seen  its  imperial  glories  dispersed 
as  mist.  Eussia  she  had  watched  with  curiosity  and  dread. 
On  the  day  when  the  ruler,  who  had  bestowed  freedom  on 
millions  of  his  people,  met  his  reward  in  the  shattering 
bomb  which  tore  him  to  fragments,  she  had  been  in  St. 
Petersburg.  A  king,  who  had  been  assassinated,  she  had 
known  well  and  had  well  liked;  an  empress,  whom  a 
frenzied  madman  had  stabbed  to  the  heart,  had  been  her 
friend. 

Her  years  had  been  richly  full  of  varied  events,  giving 
a  strong  and  far-seeing  mind  reason  for  much  unspoken 
thought  of  the  kind  which  leaps  in  advance  of  its  day's 
experience  and  exact  knowledge.  She  had  learned  when 
to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent,  and  she  oftener  chose 
silence.  But  she  had  never  ceased  gazing  on  the  world 
with  keen  eyes,  and  reflecting  upon  its  virtues  and  vag 
aries,  its  depths  and  its  shallows,  with  the  help  of  a  clear 
and  temperate  brain. 

By  her  fire  she  sat,  an  attracting  presence,  though  only 
fine,  strong  lines  remained  of  beauty  ravaged  by  illness  and 
years.  The  "polished  forehead"  was  furrowed  by  the 


204  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

chisel  of  suffering;  the  delicate  high  nose  springing  from 
her  waxen,  sunken  face  seemed  somewhat  eaglelike,  but  the 
face  was  still  brilliant  in  its  intensity  of  meaning  and  the 
carriage  of  her  head  was  still  noble.  Not  able  to  walk 
except  with  the  assistance  of  a  cane,  her  once  exquisite 
hands  stiffened  almost  to  uselessness,  she  held  her  court 
from  her  throne  of  mere  power  and  strong  charm.  On  the 
afternoons  when  people  "ran  in  to  warm  themselves"  by 
her  fire,  the  talk  was  never  dull  and  was  often  wonderful. 
There  were  those  who  came  quietly  into  the  room  fresh 
from  important  scenes  where  subjects  of  weight  to  nations 
were  being  argued  closely — perhaps  almost  fiercely.  Some 
times  the  argument  was  continued  over  cups  of  perfect 
tea  near  the  chair  of  the  Duchess,  and,  howsoever  far  it 
led,  she  was  able  brilliantly  to  follow.  With  the  aid  of 
books  and  pamphlets  and  magazines,  and  the  strong  young 
man  with  the  nice  voice,  who  was  her  reader,  she  kept 
pace  with  each  step  of  the  march  of  the  world. 

It  was,  however,  the  modern  note  in  her  recollections 
of  her  world's  march  in  days  long  past,  in  which  Coombe 
found  mental  food  and  fine  flavour.  The  phrase,  "in  these 
days"  expressed  in  her  utterance  neither  disparagement  nor 
regret.  She  who  sat  in  state  in  a  drawing-room  lighted 
by  wax  candles  did  so  as  an  affair  of  personal  preference, 
and  denied  no  claim  of  higher  brilliance  to  electric  illum 
ination.  Driving  slowly  through  Hyde  Park  on  sunny 
days  when  she  was  able  to  go  out,  her  high-swung  barouche 
hinted  at  no  lofty  disdain  of  petrol  and  motor  power.  At 
the  close  of  her  youth's  century,  she  looked  forward  with 
thrilled  curiosity  to  the  dawning  wonders  of  the  next. 

"If  the  past  had  not  held  so  much,  one  might  not  have 
learned  to  expect  more,"  was  her  summing  up  on  a  certain 
afternoon,  when  he  came  to  report  himself  after  one  of 
his  absences  from  England.  "The  most  important  dis- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  205 

covery  of  the  last  fifty  years  has  been  the  revelation  that 
no  man  may  any  longer  assume  to  speak  the  last  word  on 
any  subject.  The  next  man — almost  any  next  man — may 
evolve  more.  Before  that  period  all  elderly  persons  were 
final  in  their  dictum.  They  said  to  each  other — and  par 
ticularly  to  the  young — 'It  has  not  been  done  in  my 
time — it  was  not  done  in  my  grandfather's  time.  It  has 
never  been  done.  It  never  can  be  done'." 

"The  note  of  today  is  'Since  it  has  never  been  done,  it 
will  surely  be  done  soon',"  said  Coombe. 

"Ah !  we  who  began  life  in  the  most  assured  and  respec 
table  of  reigns  and  centuries,"  she  answered  him,  "have 
seen  much.  But  these  others  will  see  more.  Crinolines, 
mushroom  hats  and  large  families  seemed  to  promise  a 
decorum  peaceful  to  dullness ;  but  there  have  been  battles, 
murders  and  sudden  deaths ;  there  have  been  almost  super 
natural  inventions  and  discoveries — there  have  been 
marvels  of  new  doubts  and  faiths.  When  one  sits  and 
counts  upon  one's  fingers  the  amazements  the  19th  century 
has  provided,  one  gasps  and  gazes  with  wide  eyes  into  the 
future.  I,  for  one,  feel  rather  as  though  I  had  seen  a 
calm  milch  cow  sauntering — at  first  slowly — along  a  path, 
gradually  evolve  into  a  tiger — a  genie  with  a  hundred  heads 
containing  all  the  marvels  of  the  world — a  flying  dragon 
with  a  thousand  eyes !  Oh,  we  have  gone  fast  and  far  \" 

"And  we  shall  go  faster  and  farther,"  Coombe  added. 

"That  is  it,"  she  answered.     "Are  we  going  too  fast?" 

"At  least  so  fast  that  we  forget  things  it  would  be  well 
for  us  to  remember."  He  had  come  in  that  day  with  a 
certain  preoccupied  grimness  of  expression  which  was  not 
unknown  to  her.  It  was  generally  after  one  of  his 
absences  that  he  looked  a  shade  grim. 

"Such  as — ?"  she  inquired. 

"Such  as  catastrophes  in  the  history  of  the  world,  which 


206  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

forethought  and  wisdom  might  have  prevented.  The 
French  Revolution  is  the  obvious  type  of  figure  which  lies 
close  at  hand  so  one  picks  it  up.  The  French  Revolution 
— its  Eeign  of  Terror — the  orgies  of  carnage — the  cata 
clysms  of  agony — need  not  have  been,  but  they  were.  To 
put  it  in  words  of  one  syllable." 

"What  I"  was  her  involuntary  exclamation.  "You  are 
seeking  such  similes  as  the  French  Eevolution !" 

"Who  knows  how  far  a  madness  may  reach  and  what 
Reign  of  Terror  may  take  form  ?"  He  sat  down  and  drew 
an  atlas  towards  him.  It  always  lay  upon  the  table  on 
which  all  the  Duchess  desired  was  within  reach.  It  was 
flat,  convenient  of  form,  and  agreeable  to  look  at  in  its 
cover  of  dull,  green  leather.  Coombe's  gesture  of  drawing 
it  towards  him  was  a  familiar  one.  It  was  frequently  used 
as  reference. 

"The  atlas  again?"  she  said. 

"Yes.  Just  now  I  can  think  of  little  else.  I  have 
realized  too  much." 

The  continental  journey  had  lasted  a  month.  He  had 
visited  more  countries  than  one  in  his  pursuit  of  a  study 
he  was  making  of  the  way  in  which  the  wind  was  blowing 
particular  straws.  For  long  he  had  found  much  to  give 
thought  to  in  the  trend  of  movement  in  one  special  portion 
of  the  Chessboard.  It  was  that  portion  of  it  dominated 
by  the  ruler  of  whose  obsession  too  careless  nations  made 
sly  jest.  This  man  he  had  known  from  his  arrogant  and 
unendearing  youth.  He  had  looked  on  with  unbiassed 
curiosity  at  his  development  into  arrogance  so  much 
greater  that  its  proportions  touched  the  grotesque.  The 
rest  of  the  world  had  looked  on  also,  but  apparently, 
merely  in  the  casual  way  which  good-naturedly  smiles  and 
leaves  to  each  man — even  an  emperor — the  privilege  of  his 
own  eccentricities.  Coombe  had  looked  on  with  a  differ- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  207 

enee,  so  also  had  his  friend  by  her  fireside.  This  man's 
square  of  the  Chessboard  had  long  been  the  subject  of  their 
private  talks  and  a  cause  for  the  drawing  towards  them  of 
the  green  atlas.  The  moves  he  made,  the  methods  of  his 
ruling,  the  significance  of  these  methods  were  the  evidence 
they  collected  in  their  frequent  arguments.  Coombe  had 
early  begun  to  see  the  whole  thing  as  a  process — a  life-long 
labour  which  was  a  means  to  a  monstrous  end. 

There  was  a  certain  thing  he  believed  of  which  they 
often  spoke  as  "It".  He  spoke  of  it  now. 

"Through  three  weeks  I  have  been  marking  how  It 
grows,"  he  said;  "a  whole  nation  with  the  entire  power 
of  its  commerce,  its  education,  its  science,  its  religion, 
guided  towards  one  aim  is  a  curious  study.  The  very 
babes  are  b.orn  and  bred  and  taught  only  that  one  thought 
may  become  an  integral  part  of  their  being.  The  most  in 
nocent  and  blue  eyed  of  them  knows,  without  a  shadow  of 
doubt,  that  the  world  has  but  one  reason  for  existence — 
that  it  may  be  conquered  and  ravaged  by  the  country  that 
gave  them  birth." 

"I  have  both  heard  and  seen  it,"  she  said.  "One  has 
smiled  in  spite  of  oneself,  in  listening  to  their  simple, 
everyday  talk." 

"In  little  schools — in  large  ones — in  little  churches,  and 
in  imposing  ones,  their  Faith  is  taught  and  preached," 
Coombe  answered.  "Sometimes  one  cannot  believe  one's 
hearing.  It  is  all  so  ingenuously  and  frankly  unashamed 
— the  mouthing,  boasting,  and  threats  of  their  piety. 
There  exists  for  them  no  God  who  is  not  the  modest  hench 
man  of  their  emperor,  and  whose  attention  is  not  rivetted 
on  their  prowess  with  admiration  and  awe.  Apparently, 
they  are  His  business,  and  He  is  well  paid  by  being  allowed 
to  retain  their  confidence." 

"A  lack  of  any  sense  of  humour  is  a  disastrous  thing," 


208  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

commented  the  Duchess.  "The  people  of  other  nations 
may  be  fools — doubtless  we  all  are — but  there  is  no  other 
which  proclaims  the  fact  abroad  with  such  guileless  out 
bursts  of  raucous  exultation." 

"And  even  we — you  and  I  who  have  thought  more  than 
others,"  he  said,  restlessly,  "even  we  forget  and  half  smile. 
There  has  been  too  much  smiling." 

She  picked  up  an  illustrated  paper  and  opened  it  at  a 
page  filled  by  an  ornate  picture. 

"See !"  she  said.  "It  is  because  he  himself  has  made  it 
so  easy,  with  his  amazing  portraits  of  his  big  boots,  and 
swords,  and  eruption  of  dangling  orders.  How  can  one 
help  but  smile  when  one  finds  him  glaring  at  one  from  a 
newspaper  in  his  superwarlike  attitude,  defying  the  Uni 
verse,  with  his  comic  moustachios  and  their  ferocious 
waxed  and  bristling  ends.  No !  One  can  scarcely  believe 
that  a  man  can  be  stupid  enough  not  to  realize  that  he 
looks  as  if  he  had  deliberately  made  himself  up  to  repre 
sent  a  sort  of  terrific  military  bogey  intimating  that,  at 
any  moment,  he  may  pounce  and  say  'Boo  V  " 

"There  lies  the  peril.  His  pretensions  seem  too  gro 
tesque  to  be  treated  seriously.  And,  while  he  should  be 
watched  as  a  madman  is  watched,  he  is  given  a  lifetime  to 
prepare  for  attack  on  a  world  that  has  ceased  to  believe  in 
the  sole  thing  which  is  real  to  himself/' 

"You  are  fresh  from  observation."  There  was  new 
alertness  in  her  eyes,  though  she  had  listened  before. 

"I  tell  you  it  grows!"  he  gave  back  and  lightly  struck 
the  table  in  emphasis.  "Do  you  remember  Carlyle ?" 

"The  French  Eevolution  again?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  recall  this  ?  'Do  not  fires,  fevers,  seeds, 
chemical  mixtures,  go  on  growing.  Observe,  too,  that 
each  grows  with  a  rapidity  proportioned  to  the  madness 
and  unhealthiness  there  is  in  it/  A  ruler  who,  in  an  un- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  209 

aggressive  age  such  as  this,  can  concentrate  his  life  and 
his  people's  on  the  one  ambition  of  plunging  the  world  in 
an  ocean  of  blood,  in  which  his  own  monomania  can  bathe 
in  triumph — Good  God!  there  is  madness  and  unhealth- 
iness  to  flourish  in !" 

"The  world!"  she  said.    "Yes— it  wiU  be  the  world/' 

"See,"  he  said,  with  a  curve  of  the  finger  which  included 
most  of  the  Map  of  Europe.  "Here  are  countries  engaged — 
like  the  Bandarlog — in  their  own  affairs.  Quarrelling, 
snatching  things  from  each  other,  blustering  or  amusing 
themselves  with  transitory  pomps  and  displays  of  power. 
Here  is  a  huge  empire  whose  immense,  half-savage  popula 
tion  has  seethed  for  centuries  in  its  hidden,  boiling  caul 
dron  of  rebellion.  Oh !  it  has  seethed !  And  only  cruelties 
have  repressed  it.  Now  and  then  it  has  boiled  over  in 
assassination  in  high  places,  and  one  has  wondered  how 
long  its  autocratic  splendour  could  hold  its  own.  Here 
are  small,  fierce,  helpless  nations  overrun  and  outraged 
into  a  chronic  state  of  secret  ever-ready  hatred.  Here  are 
innocent,  small  countries,  defenceless  through  their  posi 
tion  and  size.  Here  is  France  rich,  careless,  super-modern 
and  cynic.  Here  is  England  comfortable  to  stolidity, 
prosperous  and  secure  to  dullness  in  her  own  half  belief 
in  a  world  civilization,  which  no  longer  argues  in  terms  of 
blood  and  steel.  And  here — in  a  well-entrenched  position 
in  the  midst  of  it  all — within  but  a  few  hundreds  of  miles 
of  weakness,  complicity,  disastrous  unreadiness  and  panic- 
stricken  uncertainty  of  purpose,  sits  this  Man  of  One 
Dream — who  believes  God  Himself  his  vassal.  Here  he 
sits." 

"Yes  his  One  Dream.  He  has  had  no  other."  The 
Duchess  was  poring  over  the  map  also.  They  were  as 
people  pondering  over  a  strange  and  terrible  game. 

"It  is  his  monomania.     It  possessed  him  when  he  was 


210  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

a  boy.  What  Napoleon  hoped  to  accomplish  he  has 
believed  he  could  attain  by  concentrating  all  the  power  of 
his  people  upon  preparation  for  it — and  by  not  flinching 
from  pouring  forth  their  blood  as  if  it  were  the  refuse 
water  of  his  gutters." 

"Yes — the  blood — the  blood!"  the  Duchess  shuddered. 
"He  would  pour  it  forth  without  a  qualm." 

Coombe  touched  the  map  first  at  one  point  and  then  at 
another. 

"See!"  he  said  again,  and  this  time  savagely.  "This 
empire  flattered  and  entangled  by  cunning,  this  country 
irritated,  this  deceived,  this  drawn  into  argument,  this 
and  this  and  this  treated  with  professed  friendship,  these 
tricked  and  juggled  with — And  then,  when  his  plans  are 
ripe  and  he  is  made  drunk  with  belief  in  himself — just  one 
sudden  insult  or  monstrous  breach  of  faith,  which  all 
humanity  must  leap  to  resent — And  there  is  our  World 
Revolution." 

The  Duchess  sat  upright  in  her  chair. 

"Why  did  you  let  your  youth  pass?"  she  said.  "If 
you  had  begun  early  enough,  you  could  have  made  the 
country  listen  to  you.  Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"For  the  same  reason  that  all  selfish  grief  and  pleasure 
and  indifference  let  the  world  go  by.  And  I  am  not  sure 
they  would  have  listened.  I  speak  freely  enough  now  in 
some  quarters.  They  listen,  but  they  do  nothing.  There 
is  a  warning  in  the  fact  that,  as  he  has  seen  his  youth  leave 
him  without  giving  him  his  opportunity,  he  has  been  a 
disappointed  man  inflamed  and  made  desperate.  At  the 
outset,  he  felt  that  he  must  provide  the  world  with  some 
fiction  of  excuse.  As  his  obsession  and  arrogance  have 
swollen,  he  sees  himself  and  his  ambition  as  reason  enough. 
No  excuse  is  needed.  Deutschland  uber  alles — is  suf 
ficient." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  211 

He  pushed  the  map  away  and  his  fire  died  down.  He 
spoke  almost  in  his  usual  manner. 

"The  conquest  of  the  world,"  he  said.  "He  is  a  great 
fool.  What  would  he  do  with  his  continents  if  he  got 
them?" 

"What,  indeed/'  pondered  her  grace.  "Continents — 
even  kingdoms  are  not  like  kittens  in  a  basket,  or  puppies 
to  be  trained  to  come  to  heel." 

"It  is  part  of  his  monomania  that  he  can  persuade  him 
self  that  they  are  little  more."  Coombe's  eye-glasses  had 
been  slowly  swaying  from  the  ribbon  in  his  fingers.  He 
let  them  continue  to  sway  a  moment  and  then  closed  them 
with  a  snap. 

"He  is  a  great  fool,"  he  said.  "But  we, — oh,  my  friend 
— and  by  'we'  I  mean  the  rest  of  the  Map  of  Europe — we 
are  much  greater  fools.  A  mad  dog  loose  among  us  and 
we  sit — and  smile." 

And  this  was  in  the  days  before  the  house  with  the 
cream-coloured  front  had  put  forth  its  first  geraniums  and 
lobelias  in  Feather's  window  boxes.  Robin  was  not  born. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  THE  added  suite  of  rooms  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
Eobin  grew  through  the  years  in  which  It  was  grow 
ing  also.  On  the  occasion  when  her  mother  saw  her, 
she  realized  that  she  was  not  at  least  going  to  look  like  a 
barmaid.  At  no  period  of  her  least  refulgent  moment  did 
she  verge  upon  this  type.  Dowie  took  care  of  her  and 
Mademoiselle  Valle  educated  her  with  the  assistance  of 
certain  masters  who  came  to  give  lessons  in  German  and 
Italian. 

"Why  only  German  and  Italian  and  French,"  said 
Feather,  "why  not  Latin  and  Greek,  as  well,  if  she  is  to 
be  so  accomplished?" 

"It  is  modern  languages  one  needs  at  this  period.  They 
ought  to  be  taught  in  the  Board  Schools,"  Coombe  re 
plied.  "They  are  not  accomplishments  but  workman's 
tools.  Nationalities  are  not  separated  as  they  once  were. 
To  be  familiar  with  the  language  of  one's  friends — and 
one's  enemies — is  a  protective  measure." 

"What  country  need  one  protect  oneself  against  ?  When 
all  the  kings  and  queens  are  either  married  to  each  other's 
daughters  or  cousins  or  take  tea  with  each  other  every 
year  or  so.  Just  think  of  the  friendliness  of  Germany  for 
instance " 

"I  do,"  said  Coombe,  "very  often.  That  is  one  of  the 
reasons  I  choose  German  rather  than  Latin  and  Greek. 
Julius  Caesar  and  Nero  are  no  longer  reasons  for  alarm." 

"Is  the  Kaiser  with  his  seventeen  children  and  his 
respectable  Frau?"  giggled  Feather.  "All  that  he  cares 

212 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  213 

about  is  that  women  shall  be  made  to  remember  that  they 
are  born  for  nothing  but  to  cook  and  go  to  church  and 
have  babies.  One  doesn't  wonder  at  the  clothes  they  wear." 

It  was  not  a  month  after  this,  however,  when  Lord 
Coombe,  again  warming  himself  at  his  old  friend's  fire, 
gave  her  a  piece  of  information. 

"The  German  teacher,  Herr  Wiese,  has  hastily  re 
turned  to  his  own  country,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

"He  found  himself  suspected  of  being  a  spy,"  was  his 
answer.  "With  most  excellent  reason.  Some  first-rate 
sketches  of  fortifications  were  found  in  a  box  he  left 
behind  him  in  his  haste.  The  country — all  countries — 
are  sown  with  those  like  him.  Mild  spectacled  students 
and  clerks  in  warehouses  and  manufactories  are  weighing 
and  measuring  resources;  round-faced,  middle-aged  gov 
ernesses  are  making  notes  of  conversation  and  of  any  other 
thing  which  may  be  useful.  In  time  of  war — if  they 
were  caught  at  what  are  now  their  simple  daily  occupa 
tions — they  would  be  placed  against  a  wall  and  shot.  As 
it  is,  they  are  allowed  to  play  about  among  us  and  slip 
away  when  some  fellow  worker's  hint  suggests  it  is  time." 

"German  young  men  are  much  given  to  spending  a  year 
or  so  here  in  business  positions,"  the  Duchess  wore  a 
thoughtful  air.  "That  has  been  going  on  for  a  decade  or 
so.  One  recognizes  their  Teuton  type  in  shops  and  in  the 
streets.  They  say  they  come  to  learn  the  language  and 
commercial  methods." 

"Not  long  ago  a  pompous  person,  who  is  the  owner  of 
a  big  shop,  pointed  out  to  me  three  of  them  among  his 
salesmen,"  Coombe  said.  "He  plumed  himself  on  his 
astuteness  in  employing  them.  Said  they  worked  for  low 
wages  and  cared  for  very  little  else  but  finding  out  how 
things  were  done  in  England.  It  wasn't  only  business 


214  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

knowledge  they  were  after,  he  said;  they  went  about  every 
where — into  factories  and  dock  yards,  and  public  build 
ings,  and  made  funny  little  notes  and  sketches  of  things 
they  didn't  understand — so  that  they  could  explain  them 
in  Germany.  In  his  fatuous,  insular  way,  it  pleased  him 
to  regard  them  rather  as  a  species  of  aborigines  benefiting 
by  English  civilization.  The  English  Ass  and  the  German 
Ass  are  touchingly  alike.  The  shade  of  difference  is  that 
the  English  Ass's  sublime  self-satisfaction  is  in  the 
German  Ass  self-glorification.  The  English  Ass  smirks 
and  plumes  himself;  the  German  Ass  blusters  and  bullies 
and  defies." 

"Do  you  think  of  engaging  another  German  Master 
for  the  little  girl?"  the  Duchess  asked  the  question  cas 
ually. 

"I  have  heard  of  a  quiet  young  woman  who  has  shown 
herself  thorough  and  well-behaved  in  a  certain  family  for 
three  years.  Perhaps  she  also  will  disappear  some  day, 
but,  for  the  present,  she  will  serve  the  purpose." 

As  he  had  not  put  into  words  to  others  any  explanation 
of  the  story  of  the  small,  smart  establishment  in  the  May- 
fair  street,  so  he  had  put  into  words  no  explanation  to  her. 
That  she  was  aware  of  its  existence  he  knew,  but  what  she 
thought  of  it,  or  imagined  he  himself  thought  of  it,  he  had 
not  at  any  period  inquired.  Whatsoever  her  point  of  view 
might  be,  he  knew  it  would  be  unbiassed,  clear  minded  and 
wholly  just.  She  had  asked  no  question  and  made  no 
comment.  The  rapid,  whirligig  existence  of  the  well- 
known  fashionable  groups,  including  in  their  circles  vari 
eties  of  the  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  type,  were  to  be  seen  at 
smart  functions  and  to  be  read  of  in  newspapers  and 
fashion  reports,  if  one's  taste  lay  in  the  direction  of  a 
desire  to  follow  their  movements.  The  time  had  passed 
when  pretty  women  of  her  kind  were  cut  off  by  severities 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  215 

of  opinion  from  the  delights  of  a  world  they  had  thrown 
their  dice  daringly  to  gain.  The  worldly  old  axiom,  "Be 
virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy/'  had  been  ironically  par 
aphrased  too  often.  "Please  yourself  and  you  will  be 
much  happier  than  if  you  were  virtuous,"  was  a  practical 
reading. 

But  for  a  certain  secret  which  she  alone  knew  and  which 
no  one  would  in  the  least  have  believed,  if  she  had  pro 
claimed  it  from  the  housetops,  Feather  would  really  have 
been  entirely  happy.  And,  after  all,  the  fly  in  her  oint 
ment  was  merely  an  odd  sting  a  fantastic  Fate  had  inflicted 
on  her  vanity  and  did  not  in  any  degree  affect  her  pleas 
ures.  So  many  people  lived  in  glass  houses  that  the 
habit  of  throwing  stones  had  fallen  out  of  fashion  as  an 
exercise.  There  were  those,  too,  whose  houses  of  glass, 
adroitly  given  the  air  of  being  respectable  conservatories, 
engendered  in  the  dwellers  therein  a  leniency  towards 
other  vitreous  constructions.  As  a  result  of  this  last  cir 
cumstance,  there  were  times  when  quite  stately  equipages 
drew  up  before  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless'  door  and  visiting 
cards  bearing  the  names  of  acquaintances  much  to  be 
desired  were  left  upon  the  salver  presented  by  Jennings. 
Again,  as  a  result  of  this  circumstance,  Feather  employed 
some  laudable  effort  in  her  desire  to  give  her  own  glass 
house  the  conservatory  aspect.  Her  little  parties  became 
less  noisy,  if  they  still  remained  lively.  She  gave  an 
"afternoon"  now  and  then  to  which  literary  people  and 
artists,  and  persons  who  "did  things"  were  invited.  She 
was  pretty  enough  to  allure  an  occasional  musician  to  "do 
something",  some  new  poet  to  read  or  recite.  Fashionable 
people  were  asked  to  come  and  hear  and  talk  to  them,  and, 
in  this  way,  she  threw  out  delicate  fishing  lines  here  and 
there,  and  again  and  again  drew  up  a  desirable  fish  of 
substantial  size.  Sometimes  the  vague  rumour  connected 


216  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

with  the  name  of  the  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  was 
quite  forgotten  and  she  was  referred  to  amiably  as  "That 
beautiful  creature,  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless."  She  was  left 
a  widow  when  she  was  nothing  but  a  girl.  If  she  hadn't 
had  a  little  money  of  her  own,  and  if  her  husband's 
relatives  hadn't  taken  care  of  her,  she  would  have  had  a 
hard  time  of  it.  She  is  amazingly  clever  at  managing  her 
small  income,  they  added.  Her  tiny  house  is  one  of  the 
jolliest  little  places  in  London — always  full  of  good  look 
ing  young  people  and  amusing  things. 

But,  before  Eobin  was  fourteen,  she  had  found  out  that 
the  house  she  lived  in  was  built  of  glass  and  that  any 
chance  stone  would  break  its  panes,  even  if  cast  without 
particular  skill  in  aiming.  She  found  it  out  in  various 
ways,  but  the  seed  from  which  all  things  sprang  to  the 
fruition  of  actual  knowledge  was  the  child  tragedy  through 
which  she  had  learned  that  Donal  had  been  taken  from 
her — because  his  mother  would  not  let  him  love  and  play 
with  a  little  girl  whose  mother  let  Lord  Coombe  come 
to  her  house — because  Lord  Coombe  was  so  bad  that  even 
servants  whispered  secrets  about  him.  Her  first  inter 
pretation  of  this  had  been  that  of  a  mere  baby,  but  it  had 
filled  her  being  with  detestation  of  him,  and  curious  doubts 
of  her  mother.  Donal's  mother,  who  was  good  and  beauti 
ful,  would  not  let  him  come  to  see  her  and  kept  Donal 
away  from  him.  If  the  Lady  Downstairs  was  good,  too, 
then  why  did  she  laugh  and  talk  to  him  and  seem  to  like 
him?  She  had  thought  this  over  for  hours — sometimes 
wakening  in  the  night  to  lie  and  puzzle  over  it  feverishly. 
Then,  as  time  went  by,  she  had  begun  to  remember  that 
she  had  never  played  with  any  of  the  children  in  the 
Square  Gardens.  It  had  seemed  as  though  this  had  been 
because  Andrews  would  not  let  her.  But,  if  she  was  not 
fit  to  play  with  Donal,  perhaps  the  nurses  and  governesses 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  217 

and  mothers  of  the  other  children  knew  about  it  and  would 
not  trust  their  little  girls  and  boys  to  her  damaging  society. 
She  did  not  know  what  she  could  have  done  to  harm 
them — and  Oh !  how  could  she  have  harmed  Donal ! — but 
there  must  be  something  dreadful  about  a  child  whose 
mother  knew  bad  people — something  which  other  children 
could  "catch"  like  scarlet  fever.  From  this  seed  other 
thoughts  had  grown.  She  did  not  remain  a  baby  long. 
A  fervid  little  brain  worked  for  her,  picked  up  hints  and 
developed  suggestions,  set  her  to  singularly  alert  reason 
ing  which  quickly  became  too  mature  for  her  age.  The 
quite  horrid  little  girl,  who  flouncingly  announced  that 
she  could  not  be  played  with  any  more  ''because  of  Lord 
Coombe"  set  a  spark  to  a  train.  After  that  time  she  used 
to  ask  occasional  carefully  considered  questions  of  Dowson 
and  Mademoiselle  Valle,  which  puzzled  them  by  their 
vagueness.  The  two  women  were  mutually  troubled  by  a 
moody  habit  she  developed  of  sitting  absorbed  in  her  own 
thoughts,  and  with  a  concentrated  little  frown  drawing 
her  brows  together.  They  did  not  know  that  she  was 
silently  planning  a  subtle  cross  examination  of  them  both, 
whose  form  would  be  such  that  neither  of  them  could  sus 
pect  it  of  being  anything  but  innocent.  She  felt  that  she 
was  growing  cunning  and  deceitful,  but  she  did  not  care 
very  much.  She  possessed  a  clever  and  determined, 
though  very  young  brain.  She  loved  both  Dowson  and 
Mademoiselle,  but  she  must  find  out  about  things  for  her 
self,  and  she  was  not  going  to  harm  or  trouble  them.  They 
would  never  know  she  had  found  out:  Whatsoever  she 
discovered,  she  would  keep  to  herself. 

But  one  does  not  remain  a  baby  long,  and  one  is  a  little 
girl  only  a  few  years,  and,  even  during  the  few  years,  one 
is  growing  and  hearing  and  seeing  all  the  time.  After 
that,  one  is  beginning  to  be  a  rather  big  girl  and  one  has 


218  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

seen  books  and  newspapers,  and  overheard  scraps  of  things 
from  servants.  If  one  is  brought  up  in  a  convent  and 
allowed  to  read  nothing  but  literature  selected  by  nuns, 
a  degree  of  aloofness  from  knowledge  may  be  counted 
upon — though  even  convent  schools,  it  is  said,  encounter 
their  difficulties  in  perfect  discipline. 

Eobin,  in  her  small  "Palace"  was  well  taken  care  of  but 
her  library  was  not  selected  by  nuns.  It  was  chosen  with 
thought,  but  it  was  the  library  of  modern  youth.  Madem 
oiselle  Valle's  theories  of  a  girl's  education  were  not 
founded  on  a  belief  that,  until  marriage,  she  should  be  led 
about  by  a  string  blindfolded,  and  with  ears  stopped  with 
wax. 

"That  results  in  a  bleating  lamb's  being  turned  out  of 
its  fold  to  make  its  way  through  a  jungle  full  of  wild 
creatures  and  pitfalls  it  has  never  heard  of,"  she  said  in 
discussing  the  point  with  Dowson.  She  had  learned  that 
Lord  Coombe  agreed  with  her.  He,  as  well  as  she,  chose 
the  books  and  his  taste  was  admirable.  Its  inclusion  of 
an  unobtrusive  care  for  girlhood  did  not  preclude  the 
exercise  of  the  intellect.  An  early  developed  passion  for 
reading  led  the  child  far  and  wide.  Fiction,  history, 
poetry,  biography,  opened  up  vistas  to  a  naturally  quick 
and  eager  mind.  Mademoiselle  found  her  a  clever  pupil 
and  an  affection-inspiring  little  being  even  from  the  first. 

She  had  always  felt,  however,  that  in  the  depths  of  her 
something  held  itself  hidden — something  she  did  not  speak 
of.  It  was  some  thought  which  perhaps  bewildered  her, 
but  which  something  prevented  her  making  clear  to  her 
self  by  the  asking  of  questions.  Mademoiselle  Valle 
finally  became  convinced  that  she  never  would  ask  the 
questions. 

Arrived  a  day  when  Feather  swept  into  the  Palace  with 
some  visitors.  They  were  two  fair  and  handsome  little 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  219 

girls  of  thirteen  and  fourteen,  whose  mother,  having  taken 
them  shopping,  found  it  would  suit  her  extremely  well  to 
drop  them  somewhere  for  an  hour  while  she  went  to  her 
dressmaker.  Feather  was  quite  willing  that  they  should 
be  left  with  Robin  and  Mademoiselle  until  their  own  gov 
erness  called  for  them. 

"Here  are  Eileen  and  Winifred  Erwyn,  Robin/'  she 
said,  bringing  them  in.  "Talk  to  them  and  show  them 
your  books  and  things  until  the  governess  comes.  Dow- 
son,  give  them  some  cakes  and  tea." 

Mrs.  Erwyn  was  one  of  the  most  treasured  of  Feather's 
circle.  Her  little  girls'  governess  was  a  young  French 
woman,  entirely  unlike  Mademoiselle  Valle.  Eileen  and 
Winifred  saw  Life  from  their  schoolroom  windows  as  an 
open  book.  Why  not,  since  their  governess  and  their 
mother's  French  maid  conversed  freely,  and  had  rather 
penetrating  voices  even  when  they  were  under  the  im 
pression  that  they  lowered  them  out  of  deference  to 
blameless  youth.  Eileen  and  Winifred  liked  to  remain 
awake  to  listen  as  long  as  they  could  after  they  went  to 
bed.  They  themselves  had  large  curious  eyes  and  were 
given  to  whispering  and  giggling. 

They  talked  a  good  deal  to  Robin  and  assumed  fash 
ionable  little  grown  up  airs.  They  felt  themselves  ma 
ture  creatures  as  compared  to  her,  since  she  was  not  yet 
thirteen.  They  were  so  familiar  with  personages  and 
functions  that  Robin  felt  that  they  must  have  committed 
to  memory  every  morning  the  column  in  the  Daily  Tele 
graph  known  as  "London  Day  by  Day."  She  some 
times  read  it  herself,  because  it  was  amusing  to  her 
to  read  about  parties  and  weddings  and  engagements.  But 
it  did  not  seem  easy  to  remember.  Winifred  and  Eileen 
were  delighted  to  display  themselves  in  the  character  of 
instructresses.  They  entertained  Robin  for  a  short  time, 


220  THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

but,  after  that,  she  began  to  dislike  the  shared  giggles 
which  so  often  broke  out  after  their  introduction  of  a 
name  or  an  incident.  It  seemed  to  hint  that  they  were 
full  of  amusing  information  which  they  held  back.  Then 
they  were  curious  and  made  remarks  and  asked  ques 
tions.  She  began  to  think  them  rather  horrid. 

"We  saw  Lord  Coombe  yesterday,"  said  Winifred  at 
last,  and  the  unnecessary  giggle  followed. 

"We  think  he  wears  the  most  beautiful  clothes  we 
ever  saw!  You  remember  his  overcoat,  Winnie?"  said 
Eileen.  "He  matches  so — and  yet  you  don't  know  ex 
actly  how  he  matches,"  and  she  giggled  also. 

'He  is  the  best  dressed  man  in  London,"  Winifred 
stated  quite  grandly.  "I  think  he  is  handsome.  So  do 
Mademoiselle  and  Florine." 

Eobin  said  nothing  at  all.  What  Dowson  privately 
called  "her  secret  look"  made  her  face  very  still.  Wini 
fred  saw  the  look  and,  not  understanding  it  or  her,  be 
came  curious. 

"Don't  you?"  she  said. 

"No,"  Eobin  answered.  "He  has  a  wicked  face.  And 
he's  old,  too." 

"You  think  he's  old  because  you're  only  about 
twelve,"  inserted  Eileen.  "Children  think  everybody 
who  is  grown-up  must  be  old.  I  used  to.  But  now 
people  don't  talk  and  think  about  age  as  they  used  to. 
Mademoiselle  says  that  when  a  man  has  distinction  he  is 
always  young — and  nicer  than  boys." 

Winifred,  who  was  persistent,  broke  in. 

"As  to  his  looking  wicked,  I  daresay  he  is  wicked  in 
a  sort  of  interesting  way.  Of  course,  people  say  all 
sorts  of  things  about  him.  When  he  was  quite  young, 
he  was  in  love  with  a  beautiful  little  royal  Princess— 
or  she  was  in  love  with  him — and  her  husband  either 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  221 

killed  her  or  she  died  of  a  broken  heart — I  don't  know 
which." 

Mademoiselle  Valle  had  left  them  for  a  short  time 
feeling  that  they  were  safe  with  their  tea  and  cakes 
and  would  feel  more  at  ease  relieved  of  her  presence. 
She  was  not  long  absent,  but  Eileen  and  Winifred,  being 
avid  of  gossip  and  generally  eliminated  subjects,  "got  in 
their  work"  with  quite  fevered  haste.  They  liked  the 
idea  of  astonishing  Robin. 

Eileen  bent  forward  and  lowered  her  voice. 

"They  do  say  that  once  Captain  Thorpe  was  fearfully 
jealous  of  him  and  people  wonder  that  he  wasn't  among 
the  co-respondents."  The  word  "co-respondent"  filled  her 
with  self-gratulation  even  though  she  only  whispered  it. 

"Co-respondents?"  said  Robin. 

They  both  began  to  whisper  at  once — quite  shrilly  in 
their  haste.  They  knew  Mademoiselle  might  return  at 
any  moment. 

"The  great  divorce  case,  you  know!  The  Thorpe  di 
vorce  case  the  papers  are  so  full  of.  We  get  the  under 
housemaid  to  bring  it  to  us  after  Mademoiselle  has  done 
with  it.  It's  so  exciting !  Haven't  you  been  reading  it  ? 
Oh!" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  answered  Eobin.  "And  I  don't  know 
about  co-respondents,  but,  if  they  are  anything  horrid, 
I  daresay  he  was  one  of  them." 

And  at  that  instant  Mademoiselle  returned  and  Dow- 
son  brought  in  fresh  cakes.  The  governess,  who  was  to 
call  for  her  charges,  presented  herself  not  long  after 
wards  and  the  two  enterprising  little  persons  were  taken 
away. 

"I  believe  she's  jealous  of  Lord  Coombe,"  Eileen 
whispered  to  Winifred,  after  they  reached  home. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Winifred  wisely.     "She  can't  help  but 


222  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

know  how  he  adores  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  because  she's 
so  lovely.  He  pays  for  all  her  pretty  clothes.  It's  silly 
of  her  to  be  jealous — like  a  baby." 

Robin  sometimes  read  newspapers,  though  she  liked 
books  better.  Newspapers  were  not  forbidden  her.  She 
had  been  reading  an  enthralling  book  and  had  not  seen 
a  paper  for  some  days.  She  at  once  searched  for  one 
and,  finding  it,  sat  down  and  found  also  the  Thorpe 
Divorce  Case.  It  was  not  difficult  of  discovery,  as  it 
filled  the  principal  pages  with  dramatic  evidence  and 
amazing  revelations. 

Dowson  saw  her  bending  over  the  spread  sheets,  hot- 
eyed  and  intense  in  her  concentration. 

"What  are  you  reading,  my  love?"  she  asked. 

The  little  flaming  face  lifted  itself.  It  was  unhappy, 
obstinate,  resenting.  It  wore  no  accustomed  child  look 
and  Dowson  felt  rather  startled. 

"I'm  reading  the  Thorpe  Divorce  Case,  Dowie,"  she 
answered  deliberately  and  distinctly. 

Dowie  came  close  to  her. 

"It's  an  ugly  thing  to  read,  my  lamb,"  she  faltered. 
"Don't  you  read  it.  Such  things  oughtn't  to  be  allowed 
in  newspapers.  And  you're  a  little  girl,  my  own  dear." 
Robin's  elbow  rested  firmly  on  the  table  and  her  chin 
firmly  in  her  hand.  Her  eyes  were  not  like  a  bird's. 

"I'm  nearly  thirteen,"  she  said.  "I'm  growing  up. 
Nobody  can  stop  themselves  when  they  begin  to  grow  up. 
It  makes  them  begin  to  find  out  things.  I  want  to  ask 
you  something,  Dowie." 

"Now,  lovey — !"  Dowie  began  with  tremor.  Both 
she  and  Mademoiselle  had  been  watching  the  innocent 
"growing  up"  and  fearing  a  time  would  come  when  the 
widening  gaze  would  see  too  much.  Had  it  come  as  soon 
as  this? 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  223 

Robin  suddenly  caught  the  kind  woman's  wrists  in 
her  hands  and  held  them  while  she  fixed  her  eyes  on 
her.  The  childish  passion  of  dread  and  shyness  in  them 
broke  Dowson's  heart  because  it  was  so  ignorant  and 
young. 

"I'm  growing  up.  There's  something — I  must  know 
something!  I  never  knew  how  to  ask  about  it  before." 
It  was  so  plain  to  Dowson  that  she  did  not  know  how  to 
ask  about  it  now.  "Someone  said  that  Lord  Coombe 
might  have  been  a  co-respondent  in  the  Thorpe  case " 

"These  wicked  children!"  gasped  Dowie.  "They're 
not  children  at  all!" 

"Everybody's  horrid  but  you  and  Mademoiselle,"  cried 
Robin,  brokenly.  She  held  the  wrists  harder  and  ended 
in  a  sort  of  outburst.  "If  my  father  were  alive — could 
he  bring  a  divorce  suit And  would  Lord  Coombe " 

Dowson  burst  into  open  tears.  And  then,  so  did 
Robin.  She  dropped  Dowson's  wrists  and  threw  her 
arms  around  her  waist,  clinging  to  it  in  piteous  re 
pentance. 

"No,  I  won't!"  she  cried  out.  "I  oughtn't  to  try  to 
make  you  tell  me.  You  can't.  I'm  wicked  to  you. 
Poor  Dowie — darling  Dowie !  I  want  to  kiss  you, 
Dowie !  Let  me — let  me  !" 

She  sobbed  childishly  on  the  comfortable  breast  and 
Dowie  hugged  her  close  and  murmured  in  a  choked  voice, 

"My  lamb  I    My  pet  lamb !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MADEMOISELLE  Valle  and  Dowson  together 
realized  that  after  this  the  growing  up  pro 
cess  was  more  rapid.  It  always  seems  incredibly 
rapid  to  lookers  on,  after  thirteen.  But  these  two  watchers 
felt  that,  in  Robin's  case,  it  seemed  unusually  so.  Robin 
had  always  been  interested  in  her  studies  and  clever  at 
them,  but,  suddenly,  she  developed  a  new  concentration 
and  it  was  of  an  order  which  her  governess  felt  denoted 
the  secret  holding  of  some  object  in  view.  She  devoted 
herself  to  her  lessons  with  a  quality  of  determination 
which  was  new.  She  had  previously  been  absorbed,  but 
not  determined.  She  made  amazing  strides  and  seemed 
to  aspire  to  a  thoroughness  and  perfection  girls  did  not 
commonly  aim  at — especially  at  the  frequently  rather 
preoccupied  hour  of  blossoming.  Mademoiselle  en 
countered  in  her  an  eagerness  that  she — who  knew  girls 
• — would  have  felt  it  optimistic  to  expect  in  most  cases. 
She  wanted  to  work  over  hours;  she  would  have  read  too 
much  if  she  had  not  been  watched  and  gently  coerced. 

She  was  not  distracted  by  the  society  of  young  people 
of  her  own  age.  She,  indeed,  showed  a  definite  desire 
to  avoid  such  companionship.  What  she  said  to  Mad 
emoiselle  Yalle  one  afternoon  during  a  long  walk  they 
took  together,  held  its  own  revelation  for  the  older  woman. 

They  had  come  upon  the  two  Erwyns  walking  with 
their  attendant  in  Kensington  Gardens,  and,  seeing  them 
at  some  distance,  Robin  asked  her  companion  to  turn 
into  another  walk. 

224 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  225 

"I  don't  want  to  meet  them,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "I 
don't  think  I  like  girls.  Perhaps  it's  horrid  of  me — 
but  I  don't.  I  don't  like  those  two."  A  few  minutes 
later,  after  they  had  walked  in  an  opposite  direction, 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps  the  kind  of  girls  I  should  like  to  know 
would  not  like  to  know  me." 

From  the  earliest  days  of  her  knowledge  of  Lord 
Coombe,  Mademoiselle  Valle  had  seen  that  she  had  no 
cause  to  fear  lack  of  comprehension  on  his  part.  With 
a  perfection  of  method,  they  searched  each  other's  intel 
ligence.  It  had  become  understood  that  on  such  occa 
sions  as  there  was  anything  she  wished  to  communicate 
or  inquire  concerning,  Mr.  Benby,  in  his  private  room, 
was  at  Mademoiselle's  service,  and  there  his  lordship 
could  also  be  met  personally  by  appointment. 

"There  have  been  no  explanations,"  Mademoiselle  Valle 
said  to  Dowson.  "He  does  not  ask  to  know  why  I  turn  to 
him  and  I  do  not  ask  to  know  why  he  cares  about  this  par 
ticular  child.  It  is  taken  for  granted  that  is  his  affair  and 
not  mine.  I  am  paid  well  to  take  care  of  Eobin,  and  he 
knows  that  all  I  say  and  do  is  part  of  my  taking  care  of 
her." 

After  the  visit  of  the  Erwyn  children,  she  had  a  brief 
interview  with  Coombe,  in  which  she  made  for  him  a  clear 
sketch.  It  was  a  sketch  of  unpleasant  little  minds,  avid 
and  curious  on  somewhat  exotic  subjects,  little  minds, 
awake  to  rather  common  claptrap  and  gossipy  pinch 
beck  interests. 

"Yes — unpleasant,  luckless,  little  persons.  I  quite  un 
derstand.  They  never  appeared  before.  They  will  not 
appear  again.  Thank  you,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said. 

The  little  girls  did  not  appear  again;  neither  did  any 
others  of  their  type,  and  the  fact  that  Feather  knew 


226  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

little  of  other  types  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  Robin's 
growing  up  without  companions  of  her  own  age. 

"She's  a  lonely  child,  after  all,"  Mademoiselle  said. 

"She  always  was,"  answered  Dowie.  "But  she's  fond 
of  us,  bless  her  heart,  and  it  isn't  loneliness  like  it  was 
before  we  came." 

"She  is  not  unhappy.  She  is  too  blooming  and  full 
of  life,"  Mademoiselle  reflected.  "We  adore  her  and  she 
has  many  interests.  It  is  only  that  she  does  not  know 
the  companionship  most  young  people  enjoy.  Perhaps, 
as  she  has  never  known  it,  she  does  not  miss  it." 

The  truth  was  that  if  the  absence  of  intercourse  with 
youth  produced  its  subtle  effect  on  her,  she  was  not 
aware  of  any  lack,  and  a  certain  uncompanioned  habit 
of  mind,  which  gave  her  much  time  for  dreams  and 
thought,  was  accepted  by  her  as  a  natural  condition  as 
simply  as  her  babyhood  had  accepted  the  limitations  of 
the  Day  and  Night  Nurseries. 

She  was  not  a  self-conscious  creature,  but  the  time  came 
when  she  became  rather  disturbed  by  the  fact  that  peo 
ple  looked  at  her  very  often,  as  she  walked  in  the  streets. 
Sometimes  they  turned  their  heads  to  look  after  her; 
occasionally  one  person  walking  with  another  would  say 
something  quietly  to  his  or  her  companion,  and  they 
even  paused  a  moment  to  turn  quite  round  and  look. 
The  first  few  times  she  noticed  this  she  flushed  prettily 
and  said  nothing  to  Mademoiselle  Valle  who  was  gen 
erally  with  her.  But,  after  her  attention  had  been  at 
tracted  by  the  same  thing  on  several  different  days,  she 
said  uneasily: 

"Am  I  quite  tidy,  Mademoiselle?" 

"Quite,"  Mademoiselle  answered — just  a  shade  uneasy 
herself. 

"I  began  to  think  that  perhaps  something  had  come 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  227 

undone  or  my  hat  was  crooked,"  she  explained.  "Those 
two  women  stared  so.  Then  two  men  in  a,  hansom 
leaned  forward  and  one  said  something  to  the  other,  and 
they  both  laughed  a  little,  Mademoiselle !"  hurriedly, 
"Now,  there  are  three  young  men !"  quite  indignantly. 
"Don't  let  them  see  you  notice  them — but  I  think  it 
rude!" 

They  were  carelessly  joyous  and  not  strictly  well-bred 
youths,  who  were  taking  a  holiday  together,  and  their 
rudeness  was  quite  unintentional  and  without  guile. 
They  merely  stared  and  obviously  muttered  comments 
to  each  other  as  they  passed,  each  giving  the  hasty,  un 
conscious  touch  to  his  young  moustache,  which  is  the 
automatic  sign  of  pleasurable  observation  in  the  human 
male. 

"If  she  had  had  companions  of  her  own  age  she  would 
have  known  all  about  it  long  ago/'  Mademoiselle  was 
thinking. 

Her  intelligent  view  of  such  circumstances  was  that 
the  simple  fact  they  arose  from  could — with  perfect  taste 
— only  be  treated  simply.  It  was  a  mere  fact;  there 
fore,  why  be  prudish  and  affected  about  it. 

"They  did  not  intend  any  rudeness,"  she  said,  after 
they  had  gone  by.  "They  are  not  much  more  than  boys 
and  not  perfectly  behaved.  People  often  stare  when  they 
see  a  very  pretty  girl.  I  am  afraid  I  do  it  myself.  You 
are  very  pretty,"  quite  calmly,  and  as  one  speaking  with 
out  prejudice. 

Robin  turned  and  looked  at  her,  and  the  colour,  which 
was  like  a  Jacqueminot  rose,  flooded  her  face.  She  was 
at  the  flushing  age.  Her  gaze  was  interested,  specu 
lative,  and  a  shade  startled — merely  a  shade. 

"Oh,"  she  said  briefly — not  in  exclamation  exactly,  but 
in  a  sort  of  acceptance.  Then  she  looked  straight  be- 


228  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

fore  her  and  went  on  walking,  with  the  lovely,  slightly 
swaying,  buoyant  step  which  in  itself  drew  attracted 
eyes  after  her. 

"If  I  were  a  model  governess,  such  as  one  read  of 
long  before  you  were  born,"  Mademoiselle  Valle  con 
tinued,  "I  should  feel  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  beauty 
counts  for  nothing.  But  that  is  nonsense.  It  counts 
for  a  great  deal — with  some  women  it  counts  for  every 
thing.  Such  women  are  not  lucky.  One  should  thank 
Heaven  for  it  and  make  the  best  of  it,  without  exag 
gerated  anxiety.  Both  Dowie  and  I,  who  love  you,  are 
grateful  to  le  6 on  Dieu  that  you  are  pretty." 

"I  have  sometimes  thought  I  was  pretty,  when  I  saw 
myself  in  the  glass,"  said  Robin,  with  unexcited  interest. 
"It  seemed  to  me  that  I  looked  pretty.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  I  couldn't  help  knowing  that  everything  is  a  matter 
of  taste  and  that  it  might  be  because  I  was  conceited." 

"You  are  not  conceited,"  answered  the  Frenchwoman. 

"I  don't  want  to  be,"  said  Eobin.  "I  want  to  be — 
a  serious  person  with — with  a  strong  character." 

Mademoiselle's  smile  was  touched  with  affectionate 
doubt.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  to  view  this  lovely 
thing  in  the  light  of  a  "strong"  character.  Though, 
after  all,  what  exactly  was  strength?  She  was  a  warm, 
intensely  loving,  love  compelling,  tender  being.  Having 
seen  much  of  the  world,  and  of  humanity  and  inhuman 
ity,  Mademoiselle  Valle  had  had  moments  of  being  afraid 
for  her — particularly  when,  by  chance,  she  recalled  the 
story  Dowson  had  told  her  of  the  bits  of  crushed  and 
broken  leaves. 

"A  serious  person,"  she  said,  "and  strong?" 

"Because  I  must  earn  my  own  living,"  said  Robin.  "I 
must  be  strong  enough  to  take  care  of  myself.  I  am  going 
to  be  a  governess — or  something." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  229 

Here,  it  was  revealed  to  Mademoiselle  as  in  a  flash,  was 
the  reason  why  she  had  applied  herself  with  determination 
to  her  studies.  This  had  been  the  object  in  view.  For 
reasons  of  her  own,  she  intended  to  earn  her  living.  With 
touched  interest,  Mademoiselle  Valle  waited,  wondering  if 
she  would  be  frank  about  the  reason.  She  merely  said 
aloud : 

"A  governess?" 

"Perhaps  there  may  be  something  else  I  can  do.  I 
might  be  a  secretary  or  something  like  that.  Girls  and 
women  are  beginning  to  do  so  many  new  things,"  her 
charge  explained  herself.  "I  do  not  want  to  be — sup 
ported  and  given  money.  I  mean  I  do  not  want — other 
people — to  buy  my  clothes  and  food — and  things.  The 
newspapers  are  full  of  advertisements.  I  could  teach 
children.  I  could  translate  business  letters.  Very  soon 
I  shall  be  old  enough  to  begin.  Girls  in  their  teens  do 
it." 

She  had  laid  some  of  her  cards  on  the  table,  but  not 
all,  poor  child.  She  was  not  going  into  the  matter  of 
her  really  impelling  reasons.  But  Mademoiselle  Valle 
was  not  dull,  and  her  affection  added  keenness  to  her 
mental  observations.  Also  she  had  naturally  heard  the 
story  of  the  Thorpe  lawsuit  from  Dowson.  Inevitably 
several  points  suggested  themselves  to  her. 

"Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless "  she  began,  reasonably. 

But  Eobin  stopped  her  by  turning  her  face  full  upon 
her  once  more,  and  this  time  her  eyes  were  full  of  clear 
significance. 

"She  will  let  me  go,"  she  said.  "You  know  she  will 
let  me  go,  Mademoiselle,  darling.  You  know  she  will." 
There  was  a  frank  comprehension  and  finality  in  the 
words  which  made  a  full  revelation  of  facts  Mademoiselle 
herself  had  disliked  even  to  allow  to  form  themselves  into 


?30  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

thoughts.  The  child  knew  all  sorts  of  things  and  felt 
all  sorts  of  things.  She  would  probably  never  go  into 
detail,  but  she  was  extraordinarily,  harrowingly,  aware. 
She  had  been  learning  to  be  aware  for  years.  This  had 
been  the  secret  she  had  always  kept  to  herself. 

"If  you  are  planning  this,"  Mademoiselle  said,  as  rea 
sonably  as  before,  "we  must  work  very  seriously  for  the 
next  few  years." 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  take?"  asked  Eobin. 
She  was  nearing  sixteen — bursting  into  glowing  blossom 
— a  radiant,  touching  thing  whom  one  only  could  visual 
ize  in  flowering  gardens,  in  charming,  enclosing  rooms, 
figuratively  embraced  by  every  mature  and  kind  arm  with 
in  reach  of  her.  This  presented  itself  before  Mademoi 
selle  Valle  with  such  vividness  that  it  was  necessary  for 
her  to  control  a  sigh. 

"When  I  feel  that  you  are  ready,  I  will  tell  you,"  she 
answered.  "And  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  help  you — before 
I  leave  you." 

"Oh!"  Kobin  gasped,  in  an  involuntarily  childish  way, 
"I — hadn't  thought  of  that!  How  could  I  live  without 
you — and  Dowie !" 

"I  know  you  had  not  thought  of  it,"  said  Mademoiselle, 
affectionately.  "You  are  only  a  dear  child  yet.  But  that 
will  be  part  of  it,  you  know.  A  governess  or  a  secretary, 
or  a  young  lady  in  an  office  translating  letters  cannot 
take  her  governess  and  maid  with  her." 

"Oh !"  said  Robin  again,  and  her  eyes  became  suddenly 
so  dewy  that  the  person  who  passed  her  at  the  moment 
thought  he  had  never  seen  such  wonderful  eyes  in  his  life. 
So  much  of  her  was  still  child  that  the  shock  of  this  sud 
den  practical  realization  thrust  the  mature  and  deter 
mined  part  of  her  being  momentarily  into  the  background, 
and  she  could  scarcely  bear  her  alarmed  pain.  It  was 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  231 

true  that  she  had  been  too  young  to  face  her  plan  as  she 
must. 

But,  after  the  long  walk  was  over  and  she  found  her 
self  in  her  bedroom  again,  she  was  conscious  of  a  sense 
of  being  relieved  of  a  burden.  She  had  been  wondering 
when  she  could  tell  Mademoiselle  and  Dowie  of  her  de 
termination.  She  had  not  liked  to  keep  it  a  secret  from 
them  as  if  she  did  not  love  them,  but  it  had  been  diffi 
cult  to  think  of  a  way  in  which  to  begin  without  seeming 
as  if  she  thought  she  was  quite  grown  up — which  would 
have  been  silly.  She  had  not  thought  of  speaking  today, 
but  it  had  all  come  about  quite  naturally,  as  a  result  of 
Mademoiselle's  having  told  her  that  she  was  really  very 
pretty — so  pretty  that  it  made  people  turn  to  look  at 
her  in  the  street.  She  had  heard  of  girls  and  women 
who  were  like  that,  but  she  had  never  thought  it  possible 

that  she !  She  had,  of  course,  been  looked  at  when 

she  was  very  little,  but  she  had  heard  Andrews  say  that 
people  looked  because  she  had  so  much  hair  and  it  was 
like  curled  silk. 

She  went  to  the  dressing  table  and  looked  at  herself 
in  the  glass,  leaning  forward  that  she  might  see  herself 
closely.  The  face  which  drew  nearer  and  nearer  had  the 
effect  of  some  tropic  flower,  because  it  was  so  alive  with 
colour  which  seemed  to  palpitate  instead  of  standing  still. 
Her  soft  mouth  was  warm  and  brilliant  with  it,  and  the 
darkness  of  her  eyes  was — as  it  had  always  been — like 
dew.  Her  brows  were  a  slender  black  velvet  line,  and 
her  lashes  made  a  thick,  softening  shadow.  She  saw  they 
were  becoming.  She  cupped  her  round  chin  in  her  hands 
and  studied  herself  with  a  desire  to  be  sure  of  the  truth 
without  prejudice  or  self  conceit.  The  whole  effect  of 
her  was  glowing,  and  she  felt  the  glow  as  others  did. 
She  put  up  a  finger  to  touch  the  velvet  petal  texture  of 


232  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

her  skin,  and  she  saw  how  prettily  pointed  and  slim  her 
hand  was.  Yes,  that  was  pretty — and  her  hair — the  way 
it  grew  about  her  forehead  and  ears  and  the  back  of  her 
neck.  She  gazed  at  her  young  curve  and  colour  and  flame 
of  life's  first  beauty  with  deep  curiosity,  singularly  im 
personal  for  her  years. 

She  liked  it;  she  began  to  be  grateful  as  Mademoiselle 
had  said  she  and  Dowie  were.  Yes,  if  other  people  liked 
it,  there  was  no  use  in  pretending  it  would  not  count. 

"If  I  am  going  to  earn  my  living,"  she  thought,  with 
entire  gravity,  "it  may  be  good  for  me.  If  I  am  a  gover 
ness,  it  will  be  useful  because  children  like  pretty  people. 
And  if  I  am  a  secretary  and  work  in  an  office,  I  daresay 
business  men  like  one  to  be  pretty  because  it  is  more 
cheerful." 

She  mentioned  this  to  Mademoiselle  Valle,  who  was 
very  kind  about  it,  though  she  looked  thoughtful  after 
wards.  When,  a  few  days  later,  Mademoiselle  had  an  in 
terview  with  Coombe  in  Benby's  comfortable  room,  he 
appeared  thoughtful  also  as  he  listened  to  her  recital  of 
the  incidents  of  the  long  walk  during  which  her  charge 
had  revealed  her  future  plans. 

"She  is  a  nice  child,"  he  said.  "I  wish  she  did  not 
dislike  me  so  much.  I  understand  her,  villain  as  she 
thinks  me.  I  am  not  a  genuine  villain,"  he  added,  with 
his  cold  smile.  But  he  was  saying  it  to  himself,  not  to 
Mademoiselle. 

This,  she  saw,  but — singularly,  perhaps — she  spoke  as 
if  in  reply. 

"Of  that  I  am  aware." 

He  turned  his  head  slightly,  with  a  quick,  unprepared 
movement. 

"Yes?"  he  said. 

"Would  your  lordship  pardon  me  if  I  should  say  that 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  233 

otherwise  I  should  not  ask  your  advice  concerning  a  very 
young  girl?" 

He  slightly  waved  his  hand. 

"I  should  have  known  that — if  I  had  thought  of  it.  I 
do  know  it." 

Mademoiselle  Valle  bowed. 

"The  fact,"  she  said,  "that  she  seriously  thinks  that  per 
haps  beauty  may  be  an  advantage  to  a  young  person  who 
applies  for  work  in  the  office  of  a  man  of  business  be 
cause  it  may  seem  bright  and  cheerful  to  him  when  he 
is  tired  and  out  of  spirits — that  gives  one  furiously  to 
think.  Yes,  to  me  she  said  it,  milord — with  the  eyes  of 
a  little  dove  brooding  over  her  young.  I  could  see  her — 
lifting  them  like  an  angel  to  some  elderly  vaurien,  who 
would  merely  think  her  a  born  cocotte" 

Here  Coombe's  rigid  face  showed  thought  indeed. 

"Good  God!"  he  muttered,  quite  to  himself,  "Good 
God!"  in  a  low,  breathless  voice.  Villain  or  saint,  he 
knew  not  one  world  but  many. 

"We  must  take  care  of  her,"  he  said  next.  "She  is 
not  an  insubordinate  child.  She  will  do  nothing  yet?" 

"I  have  told  her  she  is  not  yet  ready,"  Mademoiselle 
Valle  answered.  "I  have  also  promised  to  tell  her  when 
she  is — And  to  help  her." 

"God  help  her  if  we  do  not!"  he  said.  "She  is,  on 
the  whole,  as  ignorant  as  a  little  sheep — and  butchers 
are  on  the  lookout  for  such  as  she  is.  They  suit  them 
even  better  than  the  little  things  whose  tendencies  are 
perverse  from  birth.  An  old  man  with  an  evil  character 
may  be  able  to  watch  over  her  from  a  distance." 

Mademoiselle  regarded  him  with  grave  eyes,  which 
took  in  his  tall,  thin  erectness  of  figure,  his  bearing,  the 
perfection  of  his  attire  with  its  unfailing  freshness,  which 
tvas  not  newness. 


234  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Do  you  call  yourself  an  old  man,  milord?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  not  decrepit — years  need  not  bring  that,"  was 
his  answer.  "But  I  believe  I  became  an  old  man  before 
I  was  thirty.  I  have  grown  no  older — in  that  which  is 
really  age — since  then." 

In  the  moment's  silence  which  followed,  his  glance  met 
Mademoiselle  Valle's  and  fixed  itself. 

"I  am  not  old  enough — or  young  enough — to  be  en 
amoured  of  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless*  little  daughter,"  he  said. 
"You  need  not  be  told  that.  But  you  have  heard  that 
there  are  those  who  amuse  themselves  by  choosing  to  be 
lieve  that  I  am." 

"A  few  light  and  not  too  clean-minded  fools,"  she  ad 
mitted  without  flinching. 

"No  man  can  do  worse  for  himself  than  to  explain  and 
deny,"  he  responded  with  a  smile  at  once  hard  and  fine. 
"Let  them  continue  to  believe  it." 


CHAPTER    XX 

SIXTEEN  passed  by  with  many  other  things  much 
more  disturbing  and  important  to  the  world  than  a 
girl's  birthday;  seventeen  was  gone,  with  passing 
events  more  complicated  still  and  increasingly  significant, 
but  even  the  owners  of  the  hands  hovering  over  the  Chess 
board,  which  was  the  Map  of  Europe,  did  not  keep  a 
watch  on  all  of  them  as  close  as  might  have  been  kept 
with  advantage.  Girls  in  their  teens  are  seldom  interested 
in  political  and  diplomatic  conditions,  and  Robin  was  not 
fond  of  newspapers.  She  worked  well  and  steadily  under 
Mademoiselle's  guidance,  and  her  governess  realized  that 
she  was  not  losing  sight  of  her  plans  for  self  support. 
She  was  made  aware  of  this  by  an  occasional  word  or  so, 
and  also  by  a  certain  telepathic  union  between  them.  Lit 
tle  as  she  cared  for  the  papers,  the  child  had  a  habit  of 
closely  examining  the  advertisements  every  day.  She  read 
faithfully  the  columns  devoted  to  those  who  "Want"  em 
ployment  or  are  "Wanted"  by  employers. 

"I  look  at  all  the  paragraphs  which  begin  'Wanted,  a 
young  lady*  or  a  'young  woman'  or  a  'young  person/  and 
those  which  say  that  'A  young  person*  or  'a  young  wo 
man'  or  'a  young  lady*  desires  a  position.  I  want  to  find 
out  what  is  oftenest  needed." 

She  had  ceased  to  be  disturbed  by  the  eyes  which  fol 
lowed  her,  or  opened  a  little  as  she  passed.  She  knew 
that  nothing  had  come  undone  or  was  crooked  and  that 
untidiness  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  She  ac- 

235 


236  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

cepted  being  looked  at  as  a  part  of  everyday  life.  A  cer 
tain  friendliness  and  pleasure  in  most  of  the  glances  she 
liked  and  was  glad  of.  Sometimes  men  of  the  flushed, 
middle-aged  or  elderly  type  displeased  her  by  a  sort  of 
boldness  of  manner  and  gaze,  but  she  thought  that  they 
were  only  silly,  giddy,  old  things  who  ought  to  go  home 
to  their  families  and  stay  with  them.  Mademoiselle  or 
Dowie  was  nearly  always  with  her,  but,  as  she  was  not  a 
French  jeune  fille,  this  was  not  because  it  was  supposed 
that  she  could  not  be  trusted  out  alone,  but  because  she 
enjoyed  their  affectionate  companionship. 

There  was  one  man,  however,  whom  she  greatly  disliked, 
as  young  girls  will  occasionally  dislike  a  member  of  the 
opposite  sex  for  no  special  reason  they  can  wholly  explain 
to  themselves. 

He  was  an  occasional  visitor  of  her  mother's — a  per 
sonable  young  Prussian  officer  of  high  rank  and  title. 
He  was  blonde  and  military  and  good-looking;  he  brought 
his  bearing  and  manner  from  the  Court  at  Berlin,  and  the 
click  of  his  heels  as  he  brought  them  smartly  together, 
when  he  made  his  perfect  automatic  bow,  was  one  of  the 
things  Eobin  knew  she  was  reasonless  in  feeling  she  de 
tested  in  him. 

"It  makes  me  feel  as  if  he  was  not  merely  bowing  as 
a  man  who  is  a  gentleman  does,"  she  confided  to  Mademoi 
selle  Valle,  "but  as  if  he  had  been  taught  to  do  it  and 
wanted  to  call  attention  to  it  as  if  no  one  had  ever  known 
how  to  do  it  properly  before.  It  is  so  flourishing  in  its 
stiff  way  that  it's  rather  vulgar." 

"That  is  only  personal  fancy  on  your  part,"  commented 
Mademoiselle. 

"I  know  it  is,"  admitted  Eobin.  "But — "  uneasily, 
" — but  that  isn't  what  I  dislike  in  him  most.  It's  his 
eyes.  I  suppose  they  are  handsome  eyes.  They  are  blue 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  23T 

•and  full — rather  too  full.  They  have  a  queer,  swift 
stare — as  if  they  plunged  into  other  people's  eyes  and  tried 
to  hold  them  and  say  something  secret,  all  in  one  second. 
You  find  yourself  getting  red  and  trying  to  look  away." 

"I  don't,"  said  Mademoiselle  astutely — because  she 
wanted  to  hear  the  rest,  without  asking  too  many  ques 
tions. 

Eobin  laughed  just  a  little. 

"You  have  not  seen  him  do  it.  I  have  not  seen  him 
do  it  myself  very  often.  He  conies  to  call  on — Mamma" 
— she  never  said  "Mother" — "when  he  is  in  London. 
He  has  been  coming  for  two  or  three  seasons.  The  first 
time  I  saw  him  I  was  going  out  with  Dowie  and  he  was 
just  going  upstairs.  Because  the  hall  is  so  small,  we 
almost  knocked  against  each  other,  and  he  jumped  back 
and  made  his  bow,  and  he  stared  so  that  I  felt  silly  and 
half  frightened.  I  was  only  fifteen  then." 

"And  since  then?"  Mademoiselle  Valle  inquired. 

"When  he  is  here  it  seems  as  if  I  always  meet  him 
somewhere.  Twice,  when  Fraulein  Hirsch  was  with  me 
in  the  Square  Gardens,  he  came  and  spoke  to  us.  I  think 
he  must  know  her.  He  was  very  grand  and  condescend' 
ingly  polite  to  her,  as  if  he  did  not  forget  she  was  only 
a  German  teacher  and  I  was  only  a  little  girl  whose  mam 
ma  he  knew.  But  he  kept  looking  at  me  until  I  began 
to  hate  him." 

"You  must  not  dislike  people  without  reason.  You 
dislike  Lord  Coombe." 

"They  both  make  me  creep.  Lord  Coombe  doesn't 
plunge  his  eyes  into  mine,  but  he  makes  me  creep  with  his 
fishy  coldness.  I  feel  as  if  he  were  like  Satan  in  his 
still  way." 

"That  is  childish  prejudice  and  nonsense." 

"Perhaps  the  other  is,  too,"  said  Eobin.     "But  they  both 


238  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

make  me  creep,  nevertheless.  I  would  rather  die  than  be 
obliged  to  let  one  of  them  touch  me.  That  was  why  I 
would  never  shake  hands  with  Lord  Coombe  when  I  was 
a  little  child/' 

"You  think  Fraulein  Hirsch  knows  the  Baron?"  Ma 
demoiselle  inquired  further. 

"I  am  sure  she  does.  Several  times,  when  she  has  gone 
out  to  walk  with  me,  we  have  met  him.  Sometimes  he 
only  passes  us  and  salutes,  but  sometimes  he  stops  and 
says  a  few  words  in  a  stiff,  magnificent  way.  But  he 
always  bores  his  eyes  into  mine,  as  if  he  were  finding  out 
things  about  me  which  I  don't  know  myself.  He  has 
passed  several  times  when  you  have  en  with  me,  but 
you  may  not  remember." 

Mademoiselle  Valle  chanced,  however,  to  recall  having 
observed  the  salute  of  a  somewhat  haughty,  masculine 
person,  whose  military  bearing  in  itself  was  sufficient  to 
attract  attention,  so  markedly  did  it  suggest  the  clanking 
of  spurs  and  accoutrements,  and  the  high  lift  of  a  breast 
bearing  orders. 

"He  is  Count  von  Hillern,  and  I  wish  he  would  stay 
in  Germany,"  said  Robin. 

Fraulein  Hirsch  had  not  been  one  of  those  who  re 
turned  hastily  to  her  own  country,  giving  no  warning 
of  her  intention  to  her  employers.  She  had  remained 
in  London  and  given  her  lessons  faithfully.  She  was 
a  plain  young  woman  with  a  large  nose  and  pimpled, 
colourless  face  and  shy  eyes  and  manner.  Robin  had  felt 
sure  that  she  stood  in  awe  of  the  rank  and  military  gran 
deur  of  her  fellow  countryman.  She  looked  shyer  than 
ever  when  he  condescended  to  halt  and  address  her  and 
her  charge — so  shy,  indeed,  that  her  glances  seemed  fur 
tive.  Robin  guessed  that  she  admired  him  but  was  too 
humble  to  be  at  ease  when  he  was  near  her.  More  than 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  239 

once  she  had  started  and  turned  red  and  pale  when  she 
saw  him  approaching,  which  had  caused  Eobin  to  won 
der  if  she  herself  would  feel  as  timid  and  overpowered 
by  her  superiors,  if  she  became  a  governess.  Clearly,  a 
man  like  Count  von  Hillern  would  then  be  counted  among 
her  superiors,  and  she  must  conduct  herself  becomingly, 
even  if  it  led  to  her  looking  almost  stealthy.  She  had, 
on  several  occasions,  asked  Fraulein  certain  questions 
about  governesses.  She  had  inquired  as  to  the  age  at 
which  one  could  apply  for  a  place  as  instructress  to  chil 
dren  or  young  girls.  Fraulein  Hirsch  had  begun  her  car 
eer  in  Germany  at  the  age  of  eighteen.  She  had  lived 
a  serious  life,  full  of  responsibilities  at  home  as  one  of 
a  large  family,  and  she  had  perhaps  been  rather  mature 
for  her  age.  In  England  young  women  who  wished  for 
situations  answered  advertisements  and  went  to  see  the 
people  who  had  inserted  them  in  the  newspapers,  she 
explained.  Sometimes,  the  results  were  very  satisfac 
tory.  Fraulein  Hirsch  was  very  amiable  in  her  readi 
ness  to  supply  information.  Robin  did  not  tell  her  of 
her  intention  to  find  work  of  some  sort — probably  gover- 
nessing — but  the  young  German  woman  was  possessed  of 
a  mind  "made  in  Germany"  and  was  quite  well  aware  of 
innumerable  things  her  charge  did  not  suspect  her  of 
knowing.  One  of  the  things  she  knew  best  was  that  the 
girl  was  a  child.  She  was  not  a  child  herself,  and  she 
was  an  abjectly  bitter  and  wretched  creature  who  had  no 
reason  for  hope.  She  lived  in  small  lodgings  in  a  street 
off  Abbey  Road,  and,  in  a  drawer  in  her  dressing  table, 
she  kept  hidden  a  photograph  of  a  Prussian  officer  with 
cropped  blond  head,  and  handsome  prominent  blue  eyes, 
arrogantly  gazing  from  beneath  heavy  lids  which  drooped. 
He  was  of  the  type  the  German  woman,  young  and  slim, 
or  mature  and  stout,  privately  worships  as  a  god  whose 


240  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

relation  to  any  woman  can  only  be  that  of  a  modern  Jove 
stooping  to  command  service.  In  his  teens  he  had  be 
come  accustomed  to  the  female  eye  "which  lifts  itself 
adoringly  or  casts  the  furtively  excited  glance  of  admira 
tion  or  appeal.  It  was  the  way  of  mere  nature  that  it 
should  be  so — the  wise  provision  of  a  masculine  God, 
whose  world  was  created  for  the  supply  and  pleasure  of 
males,  and  especially  males  of  the  Prussian  Army,  whose 
fixed  intention  it  was  to  dominate  the  world  and  teach  it 
obedience. 

To  such  a  man,  so  thoroughly  well  trained  in  the  com 
prehension  of  the  power  of  his  own  rank  and  values,  a 
young  woman  such  as  Fraulein  Hirsch — subservient  and 
without  beauty — was  an  unconsidered  object  to  be  as  little 
regarded  as  the  pavement  upon  which  one  walks.  The 
pavement  had  its  uses,  and  such  women  had  theirs.  They 
could,  at  least,  obey  the  orders  of  those  Heaven  had 
placed  above  them,  and,  if  they  showed  docility  and  in 
telligence,  might  be  rewarded  by  a  certain  degree  of  ap 
proval. 

A  presumption,  which  would  have  dared  to  acknowl 
edge  to  the  existence  of  the  hidden  photograph,  could  not 
have  been  encompassed  by  the  being  of  Fraulein  Hirsch. 
She  was,  in  truth,  secretly  enslaved  by  a  burning,  secret, 
heart-wringing  passion  which,  sometimes,  as  she  lay  on  her 
hard  bed  at  night,  forced  from  her  thin  chest  hopeless 
sobs  which  she  smothered  under  the  bedclothes. 

Figuratively,  she  would  have  licked  the  boots  of  her 
conquering  god,  if  he  would  have  looked  at  her — just 
looked — as  if  she  were  human.  But  such  a  thing  could 
not  have  occurred  to  him.  He  did  not  even  think  of  her 
as  she  thought  of  herself,  torturingly — as  not  young,  not 
in  any  degree  good-looking,  not  geboren,  not  even  female. 
He  did  not  think  of  her  at  all,  except  as  one  of  those 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  241 

born  to  serve  in  such  manner  as  their  superiors  com 
manded.  She  was  in  England  under  orders,  because  she 
was  unobtrusive  looking  enough  to  be  a  safe  person  to 
carry  on  the  work  she  had  been  given  to  do.  She  was 
cleverer  than  she  looked  and  could  accomplish  certain 
things  without  attracting  any  attention  whatsoever. 

Yon  Hillern  had  given  her  instructions  now  and  then, 
which  had  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  see  and  talk  to 
her  in  various  places.  The  fact  that  she  had  before  her 
the  remote  chance  of  seeing  him  by  some  chance,  gave 
her  an  object  in  life.  It  was  enough  to  be  allowed  to 
stand  or  sit  for  a  short  time  near  enough  to  have  been 
able  to  touch  his  sleeve,  if  she  had  had  the  mad  auda 
city  to  do  it;  to  quail  before  his  magnificent  glance,  to 
hear  his  voice,  to  almost  touch  his  strong,  white  hand 
when  she  gave  him  papers,  to  see  that  he  deigned,  some 
times,  to  approve  of  what  she  had  done,  to  assure  him  of 
her  continued  obedience,  with  servile  politeness. 

She  was  not  a  nice  woman,  or  a  good  one,  and  she  had, 
from  her  birth,  accepted  her  place  in  her  world  with 
such  finality  that  her  desires  could  not,  at  any  time, 
have  been  of  an  elevated  nature.  If  he  had  raised  a 
haughty  hand  and  beckoned  to  her,  she  would  have  fol 
lowed  him  like  a  dog  under  any  conditions  he  chose  to 
impose.  But  he  did  not  raise  his  hand,  and  never  would, 
because  she  had  no  attractions  whatsoever.  And  this  she 
knew,  so  smothered  her  sobs  in  her  bed  at  night  or  lay 
awake,  fevered  with  anticipation  when  there  was  a  vague 
chance  that  he  might  need  her  for  some  reason  and  com 
mand  her  presence  in  some  deserted  park  or  country 
road  or  cheap  hotel,  where  she  could  take  rooms  for  the 
night  as  if  she  were  a  passing  visitor  to  London. 

One  night — she  had  taken  cheap  lodgings  for  a  week 
in  a  side  street,  in  obedience  to  orders — he  came  in  about 


242  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

nine  o'clock  dressed  in  a  manner  whose  object  was  to 
dull  the  effect  of  his  grandeur  and  cause  him  to  look 
as  much  like  an  ordinary  Englishman  as  possible. 

But,  when  the  door  was  closed  and  he  stood  alone  in 
the  room  with  her,  she  saw,  with  the  blissful  pangs  of 
an  abjectly  adoring  woman,  that  he  automatically  re 
sumed  his  magnificence  of  bearing.  His  badly  fitting 
overcoat  removed,  he  stood  erect  and  drawn  to  his  full 
height,  so  dominating  the  small  place  and  her  idola- 
trously  cringing  being  that  her  heart  quaked  within  her. 
Oh !  to  dare  to  cast  her  unloveliness  at  his  feet,  if  it  were 
only  to  be  trampled  upon  and  die  there !  No  small 
sense  of  humour  existed  in  her  brain  to  save  her  from  her 
pathetic  idiocy.  Eomantic  humility  and  touching  sacri 
fice  to  the  worshipped  one  were  the  ideals  she  had  read 
of  in  verse  and  song  all  her  life.  Only  through  such 
servitude  and  sacrifice  could  woman  gain  man's  love — 
and  even  then  only  if  she  had  beauty  and  the  gifts  wor 
thy  of  her  idol's  acceptance. 

It  was  really  his  unmitigated  arrogance  she  worshipped 
and  crawled  upon  her  poor,  large-jointed  knees  to  adore. 
Her  education,  her  very  religion  itself  had  taught  that 
it  was  the  sign  of  his  nobility  and  martial  high  breeding. 
Even  the  women  of  his  own  class  believed  something  of 
the  same  sort — the  more  romantic  and  sentimental  of 
them  rather  enjoying  being  mastered  by  it.  To  Frau- 
lein  Hirsch's  mental  vision,  he  was  a  sublimated  and 
more  dazzling  German  Eochester,  and  she  herself  a  more 
worthy,  because  more  submissive,  Jane  Eyre.  Ach  Gott ! 
His  high-held,  cropped  head — his  so  beautiful  white 
hands — his  proud  eyes  which  deigned  to  look  at  her  from 
beneath  their  drooping  lids !  His  presence  filled  the 
shabby  room  with  the  atmosphere  of  a  Palace. 

He  asked  her  a  few  questions;  he  required  from  her 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  243 

certain  notes  she  had  made;  without  wasting  a  word  or 
glance  he  gave  her  in  detail  certain  further  orders. 

He  stood  by  the  table,  and  it  was,  therefore,  necessary 
that  she  should  approach  him — should  even  stand  quite 
near  that  she  might  see  clearly  a  sketch  he  made  hastily 
— immediately  afterwards  tearing  it  into  fragments  and 
burning  it  with  a  match.  She  was  obliged  to  stand  so 
near  him  that  her  skirt  brushed  his  trouser  leg.  His 
nearness,  and  a  vague  scent  of  cigar  smoke,  mingled  with 
the  suggestion  of  some  masculine  soap  or  essence,  were 
so  poignant  in  their  effect  that  she  trembled  and  water 
rose  in  her  eyes.  In  fact — and  despite  her  terrified  ef 
fort  to  control  it,  a  miserable  tear  fell  on  her  cheek  and 
stood  there  because  she  dared  not  wipe  it  away. 

Because  he  realized,  with  annoyance,  that  she  was 
trembling,  he  cast  a  cold,  inquiring  glance  at  her  and  saw 
the  tear.  Then  he  turned  away  and  resumed  his  exam 
ination  of  her  notes.  He  was  not  here  to  make  in 
quiries  as  to  whether  a  sheep  of  a  woman  was  crying 
or  had  merely  a  cold  in  her  head.  "Ach !"  grovelled  poor 
Hirsch  in  her  secret  soul, — his  patrician  control  of  out 
ward  expression  and  his  indifference  to  all  small  and 
paltry  things!  It  was  part,  not  only  of  his  aristo 
cratic  breeding,  but  of  the  splendour  of  his  military 
training. 

It  was  his  usual  custom  to  leave  her  at  once,  when  the 
necessary  formula  had  been  gone  through.  Tonight — 
she  scarcely  dared  to  believe  it — he  seemed  to  have  some 
reason  for  slight  delay.  He  did  not  sit  down  or  ask 
Fraulein  Hirsch  to  do  so — but  he  did  not  at  once  leave 
the  room.  He  lighted  a  quite  marvellous  cigar — deign 
ing  a  slight  wave  of  the  admired  hand  which  held  it,  des 
ignating  that  he  asked  permission.  Oh !  if  she  dared  have 
darted  to  him  with  a  match !  He  stood  upon  the  hearth 


244  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

and  asked  a  casual-sounding  question  or  so  regarding  her 
employer,  her  household,  her  acquaintances,  her  habits. 

The  sole  link  between  them  was  the  asking  of  ques 
tions  and  the  giving  of  private  information,  and,  there 
fore,  the  matter  of  taste  in  such  matters  did  not  count 
as  a  factor.  He  might  ask  anything  and  she  must  answer. 
Perhaps  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  seek  some  special 
knowledge  among  the  guests  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  re 
ceived.  But  training,  having  developed  in  her  alertness 
of  mind,  led  her  presently  to  see  that  it  was  not  Mrs. 
Gareth-Lawless  he  was  chiefly  interested  in — but  a  mem 
ber  of  her  family — the  very  small  family  which  consisted 
of  herself  and  her  daughter. 

It  was  Eobin  he  was  enclosing  in  his  network  of  ques 
tions.  And  she  had  seen  him  look  at  Kobin  when  he 
had  passed  or  spoken  to  them.  An  illuminating  flash 
brought  back  to  her  that  he  had  cleverly  found  out  from 
her  when  they  were  to  walk  together,  and  where  they  were 
to  go.  She  had  not  been  quick  enough  to  detect  this 
before,  but  she  saw  it  now.  Girls  who  looked  like  that — • 
yes!  But  it  could  not  be — serious.  An  English  girl  of 
such  family — with  such  a  mother !  A  momentary  caprice, 
such  as  all  young  men  of  his  class  amused  themselves  with 
and  forgot — but  nothing  permanent.  It  would  not,  in 
deed,  be  approved  in  those  High  Places  where  obedience 
was  the  first  commandment  of  the  Decalogue. 

But  he  did  not  go.  He  even  descended  a  shade  from 
his  inaccessible  plane.  It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to 
obtain  details  of  the  odd  loneliness  of  the  girl's  position. 
Fraulein  Hirsch  was  quite  ready  to  explain  that,  in  spite 
of  the  easy  morals  and  leniency  of  rank  and  fashion  in 
England,  she  was  a  sort  of  little  outcast  from  sacred 
inner  circles.  There  were  points  she  burned  to  make  clear 
to  him,  and  she  made  them  so.  She  was  in  secret  fiercely 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  245 

desirous  that  he  should  realize  to  the  utmost,  that,  what 
soever  rashness  this  young  flame  of  loveliness  inspired 
in  him,  it  was  not  possible  that  he  could  regard  it 
with  any  shadow  of  serious  intention.  She  had  always 
disliked  the  girl,  and  now  her  weak  mildness  and  humility 
suddenly  transformed  themselves  into  something  else — 
a  sort  of  maternal  wolfishness.  It  did  not  matter  what 
happened  to  the  girl — and  whatsoever  befell  or  did  not  be 
fall  her,  she — Mathilde  Hirsch — could  neither  gain  nor 
lose  hope  through  it.  But,  if  she  did  not  displease  him 
and  yet  saved  him  from  final  disaster,  he  would,  per 
haps,  be  grateful  to  her — and  perhaps,  speak  with  ap 
proval — or  remember  it — and  his  Noble  Mother  most  cer 
tainly  would — if  she  ever  knew.  But  behind  and  under 
and  through  all  these  specious  reasonings,  was  the  hot 
choking  burn  of  the  mad  jealousy  only  her  type  of  luck 
less  woman  can  know — and  of  whose  colour  she  dare  not 
show  the  palest  hint. 

"I  have  found  out  that,  for  some  reason,  she  thinks 
of  taking  a  place  as  governess,"  she  said. 

"Suggest  that  she  go  to  Berlin.  There  are  good  places 
there/'  was  his  answer. 

"If  she  should  go,  her  mother  will  not  feel  any  anx 
iety  about  her,"  returned  Fraulein  Hirsch. 

"If,  then,  some  young  man  she  meets  in  the  street 
makes  love  to  her  and  they  run  away  together,  she  will 
not  be  pursued  by  her  relatives." 

Fraulein  Hirsch's  flat  mouth  looked  rather  malicious. 

"Her  mother  is  too  busy  to  pursue  her,  and  there  is  no 
one  else — unless  it  were  Lord  Coombe,  who  is  said  to 
want  her  himself." 

Von  Hillern  shrugged  his  fine  shoulders. 

"At  his  age !  After  the  mother !  That  is  like  an 
Englishman !" 


246  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Upon  this,  Fraulein  Hirsch  drew  a  step  nearer  and 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  his,  as  she  had  never  had  the  joy  of 
fixing  them  before  in  her  life.  She  dared  it  now  because 
she  had  an  interesting  story  to  tell  him  which  he  would 
like  to  hear.  It  was  like  an  Englishman.  Lord  Coombe 
had  the  character  of  being  one  of  the  worst  among  them, 
but  was  too  subtle  and  clever  to  openly  offend  people. 
It  was  actually  said  that  he  was  educating  the  girl  and 
keeping  her  in  seclusion  and  that  it  was  probably  his 
colossal  intention  to  marry  her  when  she  was  old  enough. 
He  had  no  heir  of  his  own — and  he  must  have  beauty 
and  innocence.  Innocence  and  beauty  his  viciousness 
would  have. 

"Pah!"  exclaimed  Von  Hillern.  "It  is  youth  which 
requires  such  things — and  takes  them.  That  is  all  im 
becile  London  gossip.  No,  he  would  not  run  after  her  if 
she  ran  away.  He  is  a  proud  man  and  he  knows  he  would 
be  laughed  at.  And  he  could  not  get  her  back  from  a 
young  man — who  was  her  lover." 

Her  lover!  How  it  thrilled  the  burning  heart  her 
poor,  flat  chest  panted  above.  With  what  triumphant 
knowledge  of  such  things  he  said  it. 

"No,  he  could  not,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  still  on  his. 
"No  one  could/' 

He  laughed  a  little,  confidently,  but  almost  with  light 
indifference. 

"If  she  were  missing,  no  particular  search  would  be 
made  then,"  he  said.  "She  is  pretty  enough  to  suit  Ber 
lin." 

He  seemed  to  think  pleasantly  of  something  as  he 
stood  still  for  a  moment,  his  eyes  on  the  floor.  When  he 
lifted  them,  there  was  in  their  blue  a  hint  of  ugly  exult 
ing,  though  Mathilde  Hirsch  did  not  think  it  ugly.  He 
spoke  in  a  low  yoice. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  247 

"It  will  be  an  exciting — a  colossal  day  when  we  come 
to  London — as  we  shall.  It  will  be  as  if  an  ocean  had 
collected  itself  into  one  huge  mountain  of  a  wave  and 
swept  in  and  overwhelmed  everything.  There  will  be  con 
fusion  then  and  the  rushing  up  of  untrained  soldiers — 
and  shouts — and  yells " 

"And  Zeppelins  dropping  bombs,"  she  so  far  forgot 
herself  as  to  pant  out,  "and  buildings  crashing  and  pave 
ments  and  people  smashed !  Westminster  and  the  Pal 
aces  rocking,  and  fat  fools  running  before  bayonets." 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  short  laugh  uglier  than  the 
gleam  in  his  eyes.  He  was  a  trifle  excited. 

"And  all  the  women  running  about  screaming  and  try 
ing  to  hide  and  being  pulled  out.  We  can  take  any  of 
their  pretty,  little,  high  nosed  women  we  choose — any  of 
them." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  biting  her  lip.  No  one  would 
take  her,  she  knew. 

He  put  on  his  overcoat  and  prepared  to  leave  her.  As 
he  stood  at  the  door  before  opening  it,  he  spoke  in  his 
usual  tone  of  mere  command. 

"Take  her  to  Kensington  Gardens  tomorrow  afternoon," 
he  said.  "Sit  in  one  of  the  seats  near  the  Eound  Pond 
and  watch  the  children  sailing  their  boats.  I  shall  not 
be  there  but  you  will  find  yourself  near  a  quiet,  elegant 
woman  in  mourning  who  will  speak  to  you.  You  are  to 
appear  to  recognize  her  as  an  old  acquaintance.  Follow 
her  suggestions  in  everything." 

After  this  he  was  gone  and  she  sat  down  to  think  it 
over. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SHE  saw  him  again  during  the  following  week  and 
was  obliged  to  tell  him  that  she  had  not  been  able 
to  take  her  charge  to  Kensington  Gardens  on  the 
morning  that  he  had  appointed  but  that,  as  the  girl  was 
fond  of  the  place  and  took  pleasure  in  watching  the 
children  sailing  their  boats  on  the  Sound  Pond,  it  would 
be  easy  to  lead  her  there.  He  showed  her  a  photograph 
of  the  woman  she  would  find  sitting  on  a  particular 
bench,  and  he  required  she  should  look  at  it  long  enough 
to  commit  the  face  to  memory.  It  was  that  of  a  quietly 
elegant  woman  with  gentle  eyes. 

"She  will  call  herself  Lady  Etynge,"  he  said.  "You 
are  to  remember  that  you  once  taught  her  little  girl  in 
Paris,  There  must  be  no  haste  and  no  mistakes.  It 
would  be  well  for  them  to  meet — by  accident — several 
times/' 

Later  he  aid  to  her: 

"When  Lady  Etynge  invites  her  to  go  to  her  house, 
you  will,  of  course,  go  with  her.  You  will  not  stay. 
Lady  Etynge  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

In  words,  he  did  not  involve  himself  by  giving  any 
hint  of  his  intentions.  So  far  as  expression  went,  he 
might  have  had  none,  whatever.  Her  secret  conclusion 
was  that  he  knew,  if  he  could  see  the  girl  under  propi 
tious  circumstances — at  the  house  of  a  clever  and  sym 
pathetic  acquaintance,  he  need  have  no  shadow  of  a  doubt 
as  to  the  result  of  his  efforts  to  please  her.  He  knew  she 

248 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  249 

was  a  lonely,  romantic  creature,  who  had  doubtless  read 
sentimental  books  and  been  allured  by  their  heroes.  She 
was,  of  course,  just  ripe  for  young  peerings  into  the  land  of 
love  making.  His  had  been  no  peerings,  thought  the  pale 
Hirsch  sadly.  What  girl — or  woman — could  resist  the 
alluring  demand  of  his  drooping  eyes,  if  he  chose  to  al 
low  warmth  to  fill  them?  Thinking  of  it,  she  almost 
gnashed  her  teeth.  Did  she  not  see  how  he  would  look, 
bending  his  high  head  and  murmuring  to  a  woman  who 
shook  with  joy  under  his  gaze?  Had  she  not  seen  it  in 
her  own  forlorn,  hopeless  dreams? 

What  did  it  matter  if  what  the  world  calls  disaster 
befell  the  girl?  Fraulein  Hirch  would  not  have  called 
it  disaster.  Any  woman  would  have  been  paid  a  thou 
sand  times  over.  His  fancy  might  last  a  few  months. 
Perhaps  he  would  take  her  to  Berlin — or  to  some  lovely 
secret  spot  in  the  mountains  where  he  could  visit  her. 
What  heaven — what  heaven !  She  wept,  hiding  her  face 
on  her  hot,  dry  hands. 

But  it  would  not  last  long — and  he  would  again  think 
only  of  the  immense  work — the  august  Machine,  of 
which  he  was  a  mechanical  part — and  he  would  be  obliged 
to  see  and  talk  to  her,  Mathilde  Hirsch,  having  forgotten 
the  rest.  She  could  only  hold  herself  decently  in  check 
by  telling  herself  again  and  again  that  it  was  only  natural 
that  such  things  should  come  and  go  in  his  magnificent 
life,  and  that  the  sooner  it  began  the  sooner  it  would 
end. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  when  her  pupil  walked  with 
her  in  Kensington  Gardens,  and,  quite  naturally,  strolled 
towards  the  Eound  Pond.  Eobin  was  happy  because 
there  were  flutings  of  birds  in  the  air,  gardeners  were 
stuffing  crocuses  and  hyacinths  into  the  flower  beds,  there 
were  little  sweet  scents  floating  about  and  so  it  was  Spring. 


250  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

She  pulled  a  "bare  looking  branch  of  a  lilac  bush  towards 
her  and  stooped  and  kissed  the  tiny  brown  buttons  upon 
it,  half  shyly. 

"I  can't  help  it  when  I  see  the  first  ones  swelling  on 
the  twigs.  They  are  working  so  hard  to  break  out  into 
green/'  she  said.  "One  loves  everything  at  this  time — • 
everything !  Look  at  the  children  round  the  pond.  That 
fat,  little  boy  in  a  reefer  and  brown  leather  leggings  is 
bursting  with  joy.  Let  us  go  and  praise  his  boat,  Frau 
lein." 

They  went  and  Eobin  praised  the  boat  until  its  owner 
was  breathless  with  rapture.  Fraulein  Hirsch,  standing 
near  her,  looked  furtively  at  all  the  benches  round  the 
circle,  giving  no  incautiously  interested  glance  to  any 
one  of  them  in  particular.  Presently,  however,  she  said: 

"I  think  that  is  Lady  Etynge  sitting  on  the  third 
bench  from  here.  I  said  to  you  that  I  had  heard  she  was 
in  London.  I  wonder  if  her  daughter  is  still  in  the 
Convent  at  Tours  !" 

When  Eobin  turned,  she  saw  a  quiet  woman  in  per 
fect  mourning  recognize  Fraulein  Hirsch  with  a  bow  and 
smile  which  seemed  to  require  nearer  approach. 

"We  must  go  and  speak  to  her/'  Fraulein  Hirch  said. 
"I  know  she  will  wish  me  to  present  you.  She  is  fond 
of  young  girls — because  of  Helene." 

Eobin  went  forward  prettily.  The  woman  was  gentle 
looking  and  attracting.  She  had  a  sweet  manner  and  was 
very  kind  to  Fraulein  Hirsch.  She  seemed  to  know  her 
well  and  to  like  her.  Her  daughter,  Helene,  was  still 
in  the  Convent  at  Tours  but  was  expected  home  very 
shortly.  She  would  be  glad  to  find  that  Friiulein  Hirsch 
was  in  London. 

"I  have  turned  the  entire  top  story  of  my  big  house 
into  a  pretty  suite  for  her.  She  has  a  fancy  for  living 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  251 

high  above  the  street,"  smiled  Lady  Etynge,  indulgently. 
Perhaps  she  was  a  "Mother"  person,  Robin  thought. 

Both  her  looks  and  talk  were  kind,  and  she  was  very 
nice  in  her  sympathetic  interest  in  the  boats  and  the 
children's  efforts  to  sail  them. 

"I  often  bring  my  book  here  and  forget  to  read,  be 
cause  I  find  I  am  watching  them,"  she  said.  "They  are 
so  eager  and  so  triumphant  when  a  boat  gets  across  the 
Pond." 

She  went  away  very  soon  and  Robin  watched  her  out 
of  sight  Avith  interest. 

They  saw  her  again  a  few  days  later  and  talked  a  little 
more.  She  was  not  always  near  the  Pond  when  they 
came,  and  they  naturally  did  not  go  there  each  time 
they  walked  together,  though  Fraulein  Hirsch  was  fond 
of  sitting  and  watching  the  children. 

She  had  been  to  take  tea  with  her  former  employer, 
she  told  Eobin  one  day,  and  she  was  mildly  excited  by 
the  preparations  for  Helene,  who  had  been  educated  en 
tirely  in  a  French  convent  and  was  not  like  an  English 
girl  at  all.  She  had  always  been  very  delicate  and  the 
nuns  seemed  to  know  how  to  take  care  of  her  and  calm 
her  nerves  with  their  quiet  ways. 

"Her  mother  is  rather  anxious  about  her  coming  to 
London.  She  has,  of  course,  no  young  friends  here  and 
she  is  so  used  to  the  quiet  of  convent  life,"  the  Fraulein 
explained.  "That  is  why  the  rooms  at  the  top  of  the  house 
have  been  arranged  for  her.  She  will  hear  so  little 
sound.  I  confess  I  am  anxious  about  her  myself.  Lady 
Etynge  is  wondering  if  she  can  find  a  suitable  young 
companion  to  live  in  the  house  with  her.  She  must  be 
a  young  lady  and  perfectly  educated — and  with  brightness 
and  charm.  Not  a  person  like  myself,  but  one  who  can  6e 
treated  as  an  equal  and  a  friend — almost  a  playmate." 


252  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE 

"It  would  be  an  agreeable  position/'  commented 
Robin,  thoughtfully. 

"Extremely  so,"  answered  Fraulein  Hirsch.  "Helene 
is  a  most  lovable  and  affectionate  girl.  And  Lady  Etynge 
is  rich  enough  to  pay  a  large  salary.  Helene  is  her  idol. 
The  suite  of  rooms  is  perfect.  In  Germany,  girls  are 
not  spoiled  in  that  way.  It  is  not  considered  good  for 
them." 

It  was  quite  natural,  since  she  felt  an  interest  in 
Helene,  that,  on  their  next  meeting,  Robin  should  find 
pleasure  in  sitting  on  the  green  bench  near  the  girl's 
mother  and  hear  her  speak  of  her  daughter.  She  was 
not  diffuse  or  intimate  in  her  manner.  Helene  first  ap 
peared  in  the  talk  as  a  result  of  a  polite  inquiry  made 
by  Fraulein  Hirsch.  Robin  gathered,  as  she  listened, 
that  this  particular  girl  was  a  tenderly  loved  and  cared 
for  creature  and  was  herself  gentle  and  intelligent  and 
loving.  She  sounded  like  the  kind  of  a  girl  one  would 
be  glad  to  have  for  a  friend.  Robin  wondered  and  won 
dered — if  she  would  "do."  Perhaps,  out  of  tactful  con 
sideration  for  the  feelings  of  Fraulein  Hirsch  who  would 
not  "do" — because  she  was  neither  bright,  nor  pretty,  nor 
a  girl — Lady  Etynge  touched  but  lightly  on  her  idea  that 
she  might  find  a  sort  of  sublimated  young  companion  for 
her  daughter. 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  advertise  for  what  one  wants," 
she  said. 

"Yes.  To  state  that  a  girl  must  be  clever  and  pretty 
and  graceful,  and  attractive,  would  make  it  difficult  for 
a  modest  young  lady  to  write  a  suitable  reply,"  said 
Fraulein  Hirsch  grimly,  and  both  Lady  Etynge  and  Robin 
smiled. 

"Among  your  own  friends,"  Lady  Etynge  said  to 
Robin,  a  little  pathetically  in  her  yearning,  "do  you 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  253 

know  of  anyone — who  might  know  of  anyone  who  would 
fit  in?  Sometimes  there  are  poor  little  cousins,  you 
know  ?" 

"Or  girls  who  have  an  independent  spirit  and  would 
like  to  support  themselves,"  said  the  Fraulein.  "There 
are  such  girls  in  these  advanced  times." 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  know  anyone,"  answered  Eobin. 
Modesty  also  prevented  her  from  saying  that  she  thought 
she  did.  She  herself  was  well  educated,  she  was  good 
tempered  and  well  bred,  and  she  had  known  for  some 
time  that  she  was  pretty. 

"Perhaps  Fraulein  Hirsch  may  bring  you  in  to  have 
tea  with  me  some  afternoon  when  you  are  out,"  Lady 
Etynge  said  kindly  before  she  left  them.  "I  think  you 
would  like  to  see  Helene's  rooms.  I  should  be  glad  to 
hear  what  another  girl  thinks  of  them." 

Eobin  was  delighted.  Perhaps  this  was  a  way  opening 
to  her.  She  talked  to  Mademoiselle  Valle  about  it  and 
so  glowed  with  hope  that  Mademoiselle's  heart  was  moved. 

"Do  you  think  I  might  go?"  she  said.  "Do  you  think 
there  is  any  chance  that  I  might  be  the  right  person? 
Am  I  nice  enough — and  well  enough  educated,  and  are 
my  manners  good?" 

She  did  not  know  exactly  where  Lady  Etynge  lived, 
but  believed  it  was  one  of  those  big  houses  in  a  certain 
dignified  "Place"  they  both  knew — a  corner  house,  she 
was  sure,  because — by  mere  chance — she  had  one  day  seen 
Lady  Etynge  go  into  such  a  house  as  if  it  were  her  own. 
She  did  not  know  the  number,  but  they  could  ask  Frau 
lein. 

Fraulein  Hirsch  was  quite  ready  with  detail  concern 
ing  her  former  patroness  and  her  daughter.  She  ob 
viously  admired  them  very  much.  Her  manner  held  a 
touch  of  respectful  reverence.  She  described  Helene's 


254  THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

disposition  and  delicate  nerves  and  the  perfection  of  the 
nuns'  treatment  of  her. 

She  described  the  beauty  of  the  interior  of  the  house, 
its  luxury  and  convenience,  and  the  charms  of  the  suite 
of  apartments  prepared  for  Helene.  She  thought  the 
number  of  the  house  was  No.  97  A.  Lady  Etynge  was 
the  kindest  employer  she  had  ever  had.  She  believed 
that  Miss  Gareth-Lawless  and  Helene  would  be  delighted 
with  each  other,  if  they  met,  and  her  impression  was  that 
Lady  Etynge  privately  hoped  they  would  become  friends. 

Her  mild,  flat  face  was  so  modestly  amiable  that  Mad 
emoiselle  Valle,  who  always  felt  her  unattractive  fem 
ininity  pathetic,  was  a  little  moved  by  her  evident  pleas 
ure  in  having  been  the  humble  means  of  providing  Eobin 
with  acquaintances  of  an  advantageous  kind. 

No  special  day  had  been  fixed  upon  for  the  visit  and 
the  cup  of  tea.  Eobin  was  eager  in  secret  and  hoped 
Lady  Etynge  would  not  forget  to  remind  them  of  her 
invitation. 

She  did  not  forget.  One  afternoon — they  had  not  seen 
her  for  several  days  and  had  not  really  expected  to  meet 
her,  because  they  took  their  walk  later  than  usual — 
they  found  her  just  rising  from  her  seat  to  go  home  as 
they  appeared. 

"Our  little  encounters  almost  assume  the  air  of  ap 
pointments/'  she  said.  "This  is  very  nice,  but  I  am 
just  going  away,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  wonder — "  she 
paused  a  moment,  and  then  looked  at  Fraulein  Hirsch 
pleasantly;  "I  wonder  if,  in  about  an  hour,  you  would 
bring  Miss  Gareth-Lawless  to  me  to  have  tea  and  tell 
me  if  she  thinks  Helene  will  like  her  new  rooms.  You 
said  you  would  like  to  see  them/'  brightly  to  Eobin. 

"You  are  yery  kind.  I  should  like  it  so  much,"  was 
Eobin's  answer. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  255 

Fraulein  Hirsch  was  correctly  appreciative  of  the  con 
descension  shown  to  her.  Her  manner  was  the  perfec 
tion  of  the  exact  shade  of  unobtrusive  chaperonship. 
There  was  no  improper  suggestion  of  a  mistaken  idea 
that  she  was  herself  a  guest,  or,  indeed,  anything,  in 
fact,  but  a  proper  appendage  to  her  charge.  Eobin  had 
never  been  fond  of  Fraulein  as  she  was  fond  of  Made 
moiselle  and  Dowie,  still  she  was  not  only  an  efficient 
teacher,  but  also  a  good  walker  and  very  fond  of  long 
tramps,  which  Mademoiselle  was  really  not  strong  enough 
for,  but  which  Eobin's  slender  young  legs  rejoiced  in. 

The  two  never  took  cabs  or  buses,  but  always  walked 
everywhere.  They  walked  on  this  occasion,  and,  about 
an  hour  later,  arrived  at  a  large,  corner  house  in  Berford 
Place.  A  tall  and  magnificently  built  footman  opened 
the  door  for  them,  and  they  were  handed  into  a  drawing 
room  much  grander  than  the  one  Eobin  sometimes  glanced 
into  as  she  passed  it,  when  she  was  at  home.  A  quite 
beautiful  tea  equipage  awaited  them  on  a  small  table, 
but  Lady  Etynge  was  not  in  the  room. 

"What  a  beautiful  house  to  live  in,"  said  Eobin,  "but, 
do  you  know,  the  number  isn't  97  A.  I  looked  as  we 
came  in,  and  it  is  No.  25." 

"Is  it?  I  ought  to  have  been  more  careful,"  an 
swered  Fraulein  Hirsch.  "It  is  wrong  to  be  careless 
even  in  small  matters." 

Almost  immediately  Lady  Etynge  came  in  and  greeted 
them,  with  a  sort  of  gentle  delight.  She  drew  Eobin  down 
on  to  a  sofa  beside  her  and  took  her  hand  and  gave  it  a 
light  pat  which  was  a  caress. 

"Now  you  really  are  here,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
so  busy  that  I  have  been  afraid  I  should  not  have  time 
to  show  you  the  rooms  before  it  was  too  late  to  make  a 
change,  if  you  thought  anything  might  be  improved." 


256  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"I  am  sure  nothing  can  improve  them/'  said  Robin, 
more  dewy-eyed  than  usual  and  even  a  thought  breath 
less,  because  this  was  really  a  sort  of  adventure,  and 
she  longed  to  ask  if,  by  any  chance,  she  would  "do." 
And  she  was  so  afraid  that  she  might  lose  this  amaz 
ingly  good  opportunity,  merely  because  she  was  too 
young  and  inexperienced  to  know  how  she  ought  to 
broach  her  subject.  She  had  not  thought  yet  of  ask 
ing  Mademoiselle  Valle  how  it  should  be  done. 

She  was  not  aware  that  she  looked  at  Lady  Etynge 
with  a  heavenly,  little  unconscious  appeal,  which  made 
her  enchanting.  Lady  Etynge  looked  at  her  quite  fixedly 
for  an  instant. 

"What  a  child  you  are !  And  what  a  colour  your  cheeks 
and  lips  are  I"  she  said.  "You  are  much — much  prettier 
than  Helene,  my  dear." 

She  got  up  and  brought  a  picture  from  a  side  table 
to  show  it  to  her. 

"I  think  she  is  lovely,"  she  said.  "Is  it  because  I  am 
her  mother?" 

"Oh,  no !  Not  because  you  are  her  mother !"  exclaimed 
Eobin.  "She  is  angelic !" 

She  was  rather  angelic,  with  her  delicate  uplifted  face 
and  her  communion  veil  framing  it  mistily. 

The  picture  was  placed  near  them  and  Robin  looked 
at  it  many  times  as  they  took  their  tea.  To  be  a  com 
panion  to  a  girl  with  a  face  like  that  would  be  almost 
too  much  to  ask  of  one's  luck.  There  was  actual  yearn 
ing  in  Robin's  heart.  Suddenly  she  realized  that  she 
had  missed  something  all  her  life,  without  knowing  that 
she  missed  it.  It  was  the  friendly  nearness  of  youth 
like  her  own.  How  she  hoped  that  she  might  make  Lady 
Etynge  like  her.  After  tea  was  over,  Lady  Etynge  spoke 
pleasantly  to  Fraulein  Hirsch. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  257 

"I  know  that  you  wanted  to  register  a  letter.  There 
is  a  post-office  just  around  the  corner.  Would  you  like 
to  go  and  register  it  while  I  take  Miss  Gareth-Lawless 
upstairs?  You  have  seen  the  rooms.  You  will  only  be 
away  a  few  minutes." 

Fraulein  Hirsch  was  respectfully  appreciative  again. 
The  letter  really  was  important.  It  contained  money 
which  she  sent  monthly  to  her  parents.  This  month  she 
was  rather  late,  and  she  would  be  very  glad  to  be  allowed 
to  attend  to  the  matter  without  losing  a  post. 

So  she  went  out  of  the  drawing-room  and  down  the 
stairs,  and  Eobin  heard  the  front  door  close  behind  her 
with  a  slight  thud.  She  had  evidently  opened  and  closed 
it  herself  without  waiting  for  the  footman. 


The  upper  rooms  in  London  houses — even  in  the  large 
ones — are  usually  given  up  to  servants'  bedrooms,  nur 
series,  and  school  rooms.  Stately  staircases  become  nar 
rower  as  they  mount,  and  the  climber  gets  glimpses  of 
apartments  which  are  frequently  bare,  whatsoever  their 
use,  and,  if  not  grubby  in  aspect,  are  dull  and  uninterest 
ing. 

But,  in  Lady  Etynge's  house,  it  was  plain  that  a  good 
deal  had  been  done.  Stairs  had  been  altered  and  wid 
ened,  walls  had  been  given  fresh  and  delicate  tints,  and 
one  laid  one's  hand  on  cream  white  balustrades  and 
trod  on  soft  carpets.  A  good  architect  had  taken  in 
terest  in  the  problems  presented  to  him,  and  the  result 
was  admirable.  Partitions  must  have  been  removed  to 
make  rooms  larger  and  of  better  shape. 

"Nothing  could  be  altered  without  spoiling  it!"  ex 
claimed  Eobin,  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  sitting  room, 


258  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

all  freshness  and  exquisite  colour — the  very  pictures  on 
the  wall  being  part  of  the  harmony. 

All  that  a  girl  would  want  or  love  was  there.  There 
was  nothing  left  undone — unremembered.  The  soft 
Chesterfield  lounge,  which  was  not  too  big  and  was  placed 
near  the  fire,  the  writing  table,  the  books,  the  piano  of 
satinwood  inlaid  with  garlands;  the  lamp  to  sit  and  read 
by. 

"How  glad  she  must  be  to  come  back  to  anyone  who 
loves  her  so,"  said  Eobin. 

There  was  a  quilted  basket  with  three  Persian  kittens 
purring  in  it,  and  she  knelt  and  stroked  their  fluffiness, 
bending  her  slim  neck  and  showing  how  prettily  the  dark 
hair  grew  up  from  it.  It  was,  perhaps,  that  at  which 
Lady  Etynge  was  looking  as  she  stood  behind  her  and 
watched  her.  The  girl-nymph  slenderness  and  flexibility 
of  her  leaning  body  was  almost  touchingly  lovely. 

There  were  several  other  rooms  and  each  one  was,  in 
its  way,  more  charming  than  the  other.  A  library  in 
Dresden  blue  and  white,  and  with  peculiarly  pretty  win 
dows,  struck  the  last  note  of  cosiness.  All  the  rooms  had 
pretty  windows  with  rather  small  square  panes  enclosed 
in  white  frames. 

It  was  when  she  was  in  this  room  that  Eobin  took 
her  courage  in  her  hands.  She  must  not  let  her  chance 
go  by.  Lady  Etynge  was  so  kind.  She  wondered  if  it 
would  seem  gauche  and  too  informal  to  speak  now. 

She  stood  quite  upright  and  still,  though  her  voice  was 
not  quite  steady  when  she  began. 

"Lady  Etynge,"  she  said,  "you  remember  what  Frau- 
lein  Hirsch  said  about  girls  who  wish  to  support  them 
selves  ?  I — I  am  one  of  them.  I  want  very  much  to  earn 
my  own  living.  I  think  I  am  well  educated.  I  have 
been  allowed  to  read  a  good  deal  and  my  teachers,  Mad- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  259 

emoiselle  Valle  and  Fraulein  Hirsch,  say  I  speak  and 
write  French  and  German  well  for  an  English,  girl.  If 
you  thought  I  could  be  a  suitable  companion  for  Miss 
Etynge,  I — should  be  very  happy." 

How  curiously  Lady  Etynge  watched  her  as  she  spoke. 
She  did  not  look  displeased,  but  there  was  something  in 
her  face  which  made  Robin  afraid  that  she  was,  perhaps, 
after  all,  not  the  girl  who  was  fortunate  enough  to  quite 
"do." 

She  felt  her  hopes  raised  a  degree,  however,  when 
Lady  Etynge  smiled  at  her. 

"Do  you  know,  I  feel  that  is  very  pretty  of  you  !"  she 
said.  "It  quite  delights  me — as  I  am  an  idolizing  mother 
— that  my  mere  talk  of  Helene  should  have  made  you 
like  her  well  enough  to  think  you  might  care  to  live  with 
her.  And  I  confess  I  am  modern  enough  to  be  pleased 
with  your  wishing  to  earn  your  own  living." 

"I  must,"  said  Eobin.  "I  must!  I  could  not  bear 
not  to  earn  it !"  She  spoke  a  little  suddenly,  and  a  flag 
of  new  colour  fluttered  in  her  cheek. 

"When  Helene  comes,  you  must  meet.  If  you  like  eacn 
other,  as  I  feel  sure  you  will,  and  if  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless 
does  not  object — if  it  remains  only  a  matter  of  being 
suitable — you  are  suitable,  my  dear — you  are  suitable." 

She  touched  Eobin's  hand  with  the  light  pat  which 
was  a  caress,  and  the  child  was  radiant. 

"Oh,  you  are  kind  to  me !"  The  words  broke  from  her 
involuntarily.  "And  it  is  such  good  fortune !  Thank 
you,  thank  you,  Lady  Etynge." 

The  flush  of  her  joy  and  relief  had  not  died  out  before 
the  footman,  who  had  opened  the  door,  appeared  on  the 
threshold.  He  was  a  handsome  young  fellow,  whose  eyes 
were  not  as  professionally  impassive  as  his  face.  A  foot 
man  had  no  right  to  dart  a  swift  side  look  at  one  as 


260  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

people  did  in  the  street.  He  did  dart  such  a  glance. 
Robin  saw,  and  she  was  momentarily  struck  by  its  being 
one  of  those  she  sometimes  objected  to. 

Otherwise  his  manner  was  without  flaw.  He  had  only 
come  to  announce  to  his  mistress  the  arrival  of  a  caller. 

When  Lady  Etynge  took  the  card  from  the  salver, 
her  expression  changed.  She  even  looked  slightly  dis 
turbed. 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry,"  she  murmured,  "I  must  see  her,'* 
lifting  her  eyes  to  Eobin.  "It  is  an  old  friend  merely 
passing  through  London.  How  wicked  of  me  to  forget 
that  she  wrote  to  say  that  she  might  dash  in  at  any 
hour." 

"Please!"  pled  Eobin,  prettily.  "I  can  run  away  at 
once.  Fraulein  Hirsch  must  have  come  back.  Please 


"The  lady  asked  me  particularly  to  say  that  she  has 
only  a  few  minutes  to  stay,  as  she  is  catching  a  train/' 
the  footman  decorously  ventured. 

"If  that  is  the  case,"  Lady  Etynge  said,  even  relievedly, 
"I  will  leave  you  here  to  look  at  things  until  I  come  back. 
I  really  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little  more  about  your 
self  and  Helene.  I  can't  let  you  go."  She  looked  back 
from  the  door  before  she  passed  through  it.  "Amuse 
yourself,  my  dear,"  and  then  she  added  hastily  to  the 
man. 

"Have  you  remembered  that  there  was  something 
wrong  with  the  latch,  William?  See  if  it  needs  a  lock 
smith." 

"Very  good,  my  lady." 

She  was  gone  and  Eobin  stood  by  the  sofa  thrilled 
with  happiness  and  relief.  How  wonderful  it  was  that, 
through  mere  lucky  chance,  she  had  gone  to  watch  the 
children  sailing  their  boats!  And  that  Fraulein  Hirsch 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  261 

had  seen  Lady  Etynge !  What  good  luck  and  how  grate 
ful  she  was !  The  thought  which  passed  through  her 
mind  was  like  a  little  prayer  of  thanks.  How  strange  it 
would  be  to  be  really  intimate  with  a  girl  like  herself — 
or  rather  like  Helene.  It  made  her  heart  beat  to  think 
of  it.  How  wonderful  it  would  be  if  Helene  actually 
loved  her,  and  she  loved  Helene.  Something  sprang  out 
of  some  depths  of  her  being  where  past  things  were  hid 
den.  The  something  was  a  deadly  little  memory. 
Donal!  Donal!  It  would  be — if  she  loved  Helene  and 
Helene  loved  her — as  new  a  revelation  as  Donal.  Oh! 
she  remembered. 

She  heard  the  footman  doing  something  to  the  latch 
of  the  door,  which  caused  it  to  make  a  clicking  sound. 
He  was  obeying  orders  and  examining  it.  As  she  in 
voluntarily  glanced  at  him,  he — bending  over  the  door 
handle — raised  his  eyes  sideways  and  glanced  at  her.  It 
was  an  inexcusable  glance  from  a  domestic,  because  it 
was  actually  as  if  he  were  taking  the  liberty  of  privately 
summing  her  up — taking  her  points  in  for  his  own  en 
tertainment.  She  so  resented  the  unprofessional  bad 
manners  of  it,  that  she  turned  away  and  sauntered  into 
the  Dresden  blue  and  white  library  and  sat  down  with 
a  book. 

She  was  quite  relieved,  when,  only  a  few  minutes 
later,  he  went  away  having  evidently  done  what  he  could. 

The  book  she  had  picked  up  was  a  new  novel  and 
opened  with  an  attention-arresting  agreeableness,  which 
led  her  on.  In  fact  it  led  her  on  further  and,  for  a 
longer  time  than  she  was  aware  of.  It  was  her  way  to 
become  wholly  absorbed  in  books  when  they  allured  her; 
she  forgot  her  surroundings  and  forgot  the  passing  of 
time.  This  was  a  new  book  by  a  strong  man  with  the 
gift  which  makes  alive  people,  places,  things.  The  ones 


262  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

whose  lives  had  taken  possession  of  his  being  in  this 
story  were  throbbing  with  vital  truth. 

She  read  on  and  on  because,  from  the  first  page,  she 
knew  them  as  actual  pulsating  human  creatures.  They 
looked  into  her  face,  they  laughed,  she  heard  their  voices, 
she  cared  for  every  trivial  thing  that  happened  to  them 
— to  any  of  them.  If  one  of  them  picked  a  flower,  she 
saw  how  he  or  she  held  it  and  its  scent  was  in  the  air. 

Having  been  so  drawn  on  into  a  sort  of  unconsciousness 
of  all  else,  it  was  inevitable  that,  when  she  suddenly  be 
came  aware  that  she  did  not  see  her  page  quite  clearly, 
she  should  withdraw  her  eyes  from  her  page  and  look  about 
her.  As  she  did  so,  she  started  from  her  comfortable  chair 
in  amazement  and  some  alarm.  The  room  had  become  so 
much  darker  that  it  must  be  getting  late.  How  careless 
and  silly  she  had  been.  Where  was  Fraulein  Hirsch? 

"I  am  only  a  strange  girl  and  Lady  Etynge  might 
so  easily  have  forgotten  me,"  passed  through  her  mind. 
"Her  friend  may  have  stayed  and  they  may  have  had 
so  much  to  talk  about,  that,  of  course,  I  was  forgotten. 
But  Fraulein  Hirsch — how  could  she !" 

Then,  remembering  the  subservient  humility  of  the 
Fraulein's  mind,  she  wondered  if  it  could  have  been  pos 
sible  that  she  had  been  too  timid  to  do  more  than  sit 
waiting — in  the  hall,  perhaps — afraid  to  allow  the  foot 
man  to  disturb  Lady  Etynge  by  asking  her  where  her  pupil 
was.  The  poor,  meek,  silly  thing. 

"I  must  get  away  without  disturbing  anyone,"  she 
thought,  "I  will  slip  downstairs  and  snatch  Fraulein 
Hirsch  from  her  seat  and  we  will  go  quietly  out.  I  can 
write  a  nice  note  to  Lady  Etynge  tomorrow,  and  ex 
plain.  I  hope  she  won't  mind  having  forgotten  me.  I 
must  make  her  feel  sure  that  it  did  not  matter  in  the 
least.  I'll  tell  her  about  the  book." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  263 

She  replaced  the  book  on  the  shelf  from  which  she 
had  taken  it  and  passed  through  into  the  delightful  sit 
ting  room.  The  kittens  were  playing  together  on  the 
hearth,  having  deserted  their  basket.  One  of  them  gave 
a  soft,  airy  pounce  after  her  and  caught  at  her  dress 
with  tiny  claws,  rolling  over  and  over  after  his  ineffec 
tual  snatch. 

She  had  not  heard  the  footman  close  the  door  when 
he  left  the  room,  but  she  found  he  must  have  done  so, 
as  it  was  now  shut.  When  she  turned  the  handle  it 
did  not  seem  to  work  well,  because  the  door  did  not  open 
as  it  ought  to  have  done.  She  turned  it  again  and  gave 
it  a  little  pull,  but  it  still  remained  tightly  shut.  She 
turned  it  again,  still  with  no  result,  and  then  she  tried 
the  small  latch.  Perhaps  the  man  had  done  some  blun 
dering  thing  when  he  had  been  examining  it.  She  re 
membered  hearing  several  clicks.  She  turned  the  handle 
again  and  again.  There  was  no  key  in  the  keyhole,  so 
he  could  not  have  bungled  with  the  key.  She  was  quite 
aghast  at  the  embarrassment  of  the  situation. 

"How  can  I  get  out  without  disturbing  anyone,  if  I 
cannot  open  the  door !"  she  said.  'TECow  stupid  I  shall 
seem  to  Lady  Etynge!  She  won't  like  it.  A  girl  who 
could  forget  where  she  was — and  then  not  be  able  to 
open  a  door  and  be  obliged  to  bang  until  people  come !" 

Suddenly  she  remembered  that  there  had  been  a  door 
in  the  bedroom  which  had  seemed  to  lead  out  into  the 
hall.  She  ran  into  the  room  in  such  a  hurry  that  all 
three  kittens  ran  frisking  after  her.  She  saw  she  had  not 
been  mistaken.  There  was  a  door.  She  went  to  it  and 
turned  the  handle,  breathless  with  excitement  and  re 
lief.  But  the  handle  of  that  door  also  would  not  open 
it.  Neither  would  the  latch.  And  there  was  no  key. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped.    "Oh!" 


264  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Then  she  remembered  the  electric  bell  near  the  fire 
place  in  the  sitting  room.  There  was  one  by  the  fire 
place  here,  also.  No,  she  would  ring  the  one  in  the  sit 
ting  room.  She  went  to  it  and  pressed  the  button.  She 
could  not  hear  the  ghost  of  a  sound  and  one  could  gen 
erally  hear  something  like  one.  She  rang  again  and 
waited.  The  room  was  getting  darker.  Oh,  how  could 
Fraulein  Hirsch — how  could  she? 

She  waited — she  waited.  Fifteen  minutes  by  her  little 
watch — twenty  minutes — and,  in  their  passing,  she  rang 
again.  She  rang  the  bell  in  the  library  and  the  one  in 
the  bedroom — even  the  one  in  the  bathroom,  lest  some 
might  be  out  of  order.  She  slowly  ceased  to  be  embar 
rassed  and  self-reproachful  and  began  to  feel  afraid, 
though  she  did  not  know  quite  what  she  was  afraid  of. 
She  went  to  one  of  the  windows  to  look  at  her  watch 
again  in  the  vanishing  light,  and  saw  that  she  had  been 
ringing  the  bells  for  an  hour.  She  automatically  put 
up  a  hand  and  leaned  against  the  white  frame  of  one  of 
the  decorative  small  panes  of  glass.  As  she  touched  it, 
she  vaguely  realized  that  it  was  of  such  a  solidity  that  it 
felt,  not  like  wood  but  iron.  She  drew  her  hand  away 
quickly,  feeling  a  sudden  sweep  of  unexplainable  fear — 
yes,  it  was  fear.  And  why  should  she  so  suddenly  feel 
it?  She  went  back  to  the  door  and  tried  again  to  open 
it — as  ineffectively  as  before.  Then  she  began  to  feel 
a  little  cold  and  sick.  She  returned  to  the  Chesterfield 
and  sat  down  on  it  helplessly. 

"It  seems  as  if — I  had  been  locked  in!"  she  broke 
out,  in  a  faint,  bewildered  wail  of  a  whisper.  "Oh, 
why — did  they  lock  the  doors!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SHE  had  known  none  of  the  absolute  horrors  of  life 
which  were  possible  in  that  underworld  which  was 
not  likely  to  touch  her  own  existence  in  any  form. 

"Why,"  had  argued  Mademoiselle  Valle,  "should  one 
fill  a  white  young  mind  with  ugly  images  which  would 
deface  with  dark  marks  and  smears,  and  could  only  pro 
duce  unhappiness  and,  perhaps,  morbid  broodings?  One 
does  not  feel  it  is  wise  to  give  a  girl  an  education  in 
crime.  One  would  not  permit  her  to  read  the  New 
gate  Calendar  for  choice.  She  will  be  protected  by  those 
who  love  her  and  what  she  must  discover  she  will  dis 
cover.  That  is  Life." 

Which  was  why  her  first  discovery  that  neither  door 
could  be  opened,  did  not  at  once  fill  her  with  horror. 
Her  first  arguments  were  merely  those  of  a  girl  who, 
though  her  brain  was  not  inactive  pulp,  had  still  a  pro 
tected  girl's  outlook.  She  had  been  overwhelmed  by  a 
sense  of  the  awkwardness  of  her  position  and  by  the 
dread  that  she  would  be  obliged  to  disturb  and,  almost 
inevitably,  embarrass  and  annoy  Lady  Etynge.  Of 
course,  there  had  been  some  bungling  on  the  part  of  the 
impudent  footman — perhaps  actually  at  the  moment  when 
he  had  given  his  sidelong  leer  at  herself  instead  of  prop 
erly  attending  to  what  he  was  trying  to  do.  That  the 
bedroom  was  locked  might  be  the  result  of  a  dozen  or 
dinary  reasons. 

The  first  hint  of  an  abnormality  of  conditions  came  after 
she  had  rung  the  bells  and  had  waited  in  vain  for  response 

M6 


266  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

to  her  summons.  There  were  servants  whose  business  it 
was  to  answer  bells  at  once.  If  all  the  bells  were  out  of 
order,  why  were  they  out  of  order  when  Helene  was  to 
return  in  a  few  days  and  her  apartment  was  supposed  to 
be  complete  ?  Even  to  the  kittens — even  to  the  kittens ! 

"It  seems  as  if  I  had  been  locked  in,"  she  had  whispered 
to  the  silence  of  the  room.  "Why  did  they  lock  the 
doors  ?" 

Then  she  said,  and  her  heart  began  to  thump  and  race 
in  her  side: 

"It  has  been  done  on  purpose.  They  don't  intend  to 
let  me  out — for  some  horrible  reason !" 

Perhaps  even  her  own  growing  panic  was  not  so  appalling 
as  a  sudden  rushing  memory  of  Lady  Etynge,  which,  at 
this  moment,  overthrew  her.  Lady  Etynge !  Lady 
Etynge !  She  saw  her  gentle  face  and  almost  affection 
ately  watching  eyes.  She  heard  her  voice  as  she  spoke  of 
Hel&ne ;  she  felt  the  light  pat  which  was  a  caress. 

"No !  No !"  she  gasped  it,  because  her  breath  had  almost 
left  her.  "No !  No !  She  couldn't !  No  one  could !  There 
is  nothing  as  wicked — as  that !" 

But,  even  as  she  cried  out,  the  overthrow  was  utter,  and 
she  threw  herself  forward  on  the  arm  of  the  couch  and 
sobbed — sobbed  with  the  passion  she  had  only  known  on 
the  day  long  ago  when  she  had  crawled  into  the  shrubs 
and  groveled  in  the  earth.  It  was  the  same  kind  of 
passion — the  shaken  and  heart-riven  woe  of  a  creature  who 
has  trusted  and  hoped  joyously  and  has  been  forever  be 
trayed.  The  face  and  eyes  had  been  so  kind.  The  voice 
so  friendly !  Oh,  how  could  even  the  wickedest  girl  in  the 
world  have  doubted  their  sincerity.  Unfortunately — or 
fortunately — she  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  mental 
processes  of  the  wicked  girls  of  the  world,  which  was  why 
she  lay  broken  to  pieces,  sobbing — sobbing,  not  at  the 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  267 

moment  because  she  was  a  trapped  thing,  but  because  Lady 
Etynge  had  a  face  in  whose  gentleness  her  heart  had 
trusted  and  rejoiced. 

When  she  sat  upright  again,  her  own  face,  as  she  lifted 
it,  would  have  struck  a  perceptive  onlooker  as  being,  as  it 
were,  the  face  of  another  girl.  It  was  tear-stained  and 
wild,  but  this  was  not  the  cause  of  its  change.  The  soft, 
bird  eyes  were  different — suddenly,  amazingly  older  than 
they  had  been  when  she  had  believed  in  Helene. 

She  had  no  experience  which  could  reveal  to  her  in  a 
moment  the  monstrousness  of  her  danger,  but  all  she  had 
ever  read,  or  vaguely  gathered,  of  law  breakers  and 
marauders  of  society,  collected  itself  into  an  advancing 
tidal  wave  of  horror. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window  and  tried  to  open  it, 
but  it  was  not  intended  to  open.  The  decorative  panes 
were  of  small  size  and  of  thick  glass.  Her  first  startled 
impression  that  the  white  framework  seemed  to  be  a 
painted  metal  was  apparently  founded  on  fact.  A  strong 
person  might  have  bent  it  with  a  hammer,  but  he  could 
not  have  broken  it.  She  examined  the  windows  in  the 
other  rooms  and  they  were  of  the  same  structure. 

"They  are  made  like  that/'  she  said  to  herself  stonily, 
"to  prevent  people  from  getting  out." 

She  stood  at  the  front  one  and  looked  down  into  the 
broad,  stately  "Place."  It  was  a  long  way  to  look  down, 
and,  even  if  the  window  could  be  opened,  one's  voice  would 
not  be  heard.  The  street  lamps  were  lighted  and  a  few 
people  were  to  be  seen  walking  past  unhurriedly. 

"In  the  big  house  almost  opposite  they  are  going  to 
give  a  party.  There  is  a  red  carpet  rolled  out.  Carriages 
are  beginning  to  drive  up.  And  here  on  the  top  floor, 
there  is  a  girl  locked  up — And  they  don't  know !" 

She  said  it  aloud,  and  her  voice  sounded  as  though  it 


268  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

were  not  her  own.  It  was  a  dreadful  voice,  and,  as  she 
heard  it,  panic  seized  her. 

Nobody  knew — nobody !  Her  mother  never  either  knew 
or  cared  where  she  was,  but  Dowie  and  Mademoiselle 
always  knew.  They  would  be  terrified.  Fraulein  Hirsch 
had,  perhaps,  been  told  that  her  pupil  had  taken  a  cab 
and  gone  home  and  she  would  return  to  her  lodgings 
thinking  she  was  safe. 

Then — only  at  this  moment,  and  with  a  suddenness 
which  produced  a  sense  of  shock — she  recalled  that  it  was 
Fraulein  Hirsch  who  had  presented  her  to  Lady  Etynge. 
Fraulein  Hirsch  herself!  It  was  she  who  had  said  she 
had  been  in  her  employ  and  had  taught  Helene — Helene ! 
It  was  she  who  had  related  anecdotes  about  the  Convent 
at  Tours  and  the  nuns  who  were  so  wise  and  kind! 
Eobin's  hand  went  up  to  her  forehead  with  a  panic- 
stricken  gesture.  Fraulein  Hirsch  had  made  an  excuse 
for  leaving  her  with  Lady  Etynge — to  be  brought  up  to 
the  top  of  the  house  quite  alone — and  locked  in.  Fraulein 
Hirsch  had  known!  And  there  came  back  to  her  the 
memory  of  the  furtive  eyes  whose  sly,  adoring  sidelooks 
at  Count  Von  Hillern  had  always — though  she  had  tried 
not  to  feel  it — been,  somehow,  glances  she  had  disliked — 
yes,  disliked! 

It  was  here — by  the  thread  of  Fraulein  Hirsch — that 
Count  Von  Hillern  was  drawn  into  her  mind.  Once 
there,  it  was  as  if  he  stood  near  her — quite  close — looking 
down  under  his  heavy,  drooping  lids  with  stealthy,  plung 
ing  eyes.  It  had  always  been  when  Fraulein  Hirsch  had 
walked  with  her  that  they  had  met  him — almost  as  if  by 
arrangement. 

There  were  only  two  people  in  the  world  who  might — 
because  she  herself  had  so  hated  them — dislike  and  choose 
in  some  way  to  punish  her.  One  was  Count  Von  Hillern. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  269 

The  other  was  Lord  Coombe.  Lord  Coombe,  she  knew, 
was  bad,  vicious,  did  the  things  people  only  hinted  at  with 
out  speaking  of  them  plainly.  A  sense  of  instinctive  revolt 
in  the  strength  of  her  antipathy  to  Von  Hillern  made  her 
feel  that  he  must  be  of  the  same  order. 

"If  either  of  them  came  into  this  room  now  and  locked 
the  door  behind  him,  I  could  not  get  out." 

She  heard  herself  say  it  aloud  in  the  strange  girl's 
dreadful  voice,  as  she  had  heard  herself  speak  of  the  party 
in  the  big  house  opposite.  She  put  her  soft,  slim  hand 
up  to  her  soft,  slim  throat. 

"I  could  not  get  out,"  she  repeated. 

She  ran  to  the  door  and  began  to  beat  on  its  panels.  By 
this  time,  she  knew  it  would  be  no  use  and  yet  she  beat 
with  her  hands  until  they  were  bruised  and  then  she 
snatched  up  a  book  and  beat  with  that.  She  thought  she 
must  have  been  beating  half  an  hour  when  she  realized 
that  someone  was  standing  outside  in  the  corridor,  and 
the  someone  said,  in  a  voice  she  recognized  as  belonging  to 
the  leering  footman, 

"May  as  well  keep  still,  Miss.  You  can't  hammer  it 
down  and  no  one  }s  going  to  bother  taking  any  notice,"  and 
then  his  footsteps  retired  down  the  stairs.  She  involun 
tarily  clenched  her  hurt  hands  and  the  shuddering  began 
again  though  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  a 
rigid  body  and  her  head  thrown  fiercely  back. 

"If  there  are  people  in  the  world  as  hideous — and  mon 
strous  as  this — let  them  kill  me  if  they  want  to.  I 
would  rather  be  killed  than  live !  They  would  have  to 
kill  me !"  and  she  said  it  in  a  frenzy  of  defiance  of  all  mad 
and  base  things  on  earth. 

Her  peril  seemed  to  force  her  thought  to  delve  into 
unknown  dark  places  in  her  memory  and  dig  up  horrors 
ehe  had  forgotten — newspaper  stories  of  crime,  old  melo- 


270  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

dramas  and  mystery  romances,  in  which  people  disap 
peared  and  were  long  afterwards  found  buried  under  floors 
or  in  cellars.  It  was  said  that  the  Berford  Place  houses, 
which  were  old  ones,  had  enormous  cellars  under  them. 

"Perhaps  other  girls  have  disappeared  and  now  are 
buried  in  the  cellars/'  she  thought. 

And  the  dreadful  young  voice  added  aloud. 

"Because  they  would  have  to  kill  me/' 

One  of  the  Persian  kittens  curled  up  in  the  basket 
wakened  because  he  heard  it  and  stretched  a  sleepy  paw 
and  mewed  at  her. 


Coombe  House  was  one  of  the  old  ones,  wearing  some 
what  the  aspect  of  a  stately  barrack  with  a  fine  entrance. 
Its  court  was  enclosed  at  the  front  by  a  stone  wall,  out 
side  which  passing  London  roared  in  low  tumult.  The 
court  was  surrounded  by  a  belt  of  shrubs  strong  enough  to 
defy  the  rain  of  soot  which  fell  quietly  upon  them  day 
and  night. 

The  streets  were  already  lighted  for  the  evening  when 
Mademoiselle  Vall6  presented  herself  at  the  massive  front 
door  and  asked  for  Lord  Coombe.  The  expression  of  her 
face,  and  a  certain  intensity  of  manner,  caused  the  serious- 
looking  head  servant,  who  wore  no  livery,  to  come  forward 
instead  of  leaving  her  to  the  footmen. 

"His  lordship  is  engaged  with — a  business  person — and 
must  not  be  disturbed,"  he  said.  "He  is  also  going  out.'' 

"He  will  see  me,"  replied  Mademoiselle  Valle.  "If  you 
give  him  this  card  he  will  see  me." 

She  was  a  plainly  dressed  woman,  but  she  had  a  manner 
which  removed  her  entirely  from  the  class  of  those  who 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  271 

merely  came  to  importune.  There  was  absolute  certainty 
in  the  eyes  she  fixed  with  steadiness  on  the  man's  face. 
He  took  her  card,  though  he  hesitated. 

"If  he  does  not  see  me,"  she  added,  "be  will  be  very 
much  displeased." 

"Will  you  come  in,  ma'am,  and  take  a  seat  for  a 
moment?"  he  ventured.  "I  will  inquire." 

The  great  hall  was  one  of  London's  most  celebrated.  A 
magnificent  staircase  swept  up  from  it  to  landings  whose 
walls  were  hung  with  tapestries  the  world  knew.  In  a 
gilded  chair,  like  a  throne,  Mademoiselle  Valle  sat  and 
waited. 

But  she  did  not  wait  long.  The  serious-looking  man 
without  livery  returned  almost  immediately.  He  led  Mad 
emoiselle  into  a  room  like  a  sort  of  study  or  apartment 
given  up  to  business  matters.  Mademoiselle  Valle  had 
never  seen  Lord  Coombe's  ceremonial  evening  effect  more 
flawless.  Tall,  thin  and  finely  straight,  he  waited  in  the 
centre  of  the  room.  He  was  evidently  on  the  point  of 
going  out,  and  the  light-textured  satin-lined  overcoat  he 
had  already  thrown  on  revealed,  through  a  suggestion  of 
being  winged,  that  he  wore  in  his  lapel  a  delicately  fresh, 
cream-coloured  carnation. 

A  respectable,  middle-class  looking  man  with  a  steady, 
blunt-featured  face,  had  been  talking  to  him  and  stepped 
quietly  aside  as  Mademoiselle  entered.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  question  of  his  leaving  the  room. 

Coombe  met  his  visitor  half  way : 

"Something  has  alarmed  you  very  much?"  he  said. 

"Eobin  went  out  with  Fraulein  Hirsch  this  afternoon," 
she  said  quickly.  "They  went  to  Kensington  Gardens. 
They  have  not  come  back — and  it  is  nine  o'clock.  They 
are  always  at  home  by  six." 

"Will  you  sit  down,"  he  said.     The  man  with  the  steady 


272  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

face  was  listening  intently,  and  she  realized  he  was  doing 
so  and  that,  somehow,  it  was  well  that  he  should. 

"I  do  not  think  there  is  time  for  any  one  to  sit  down," 
she  said,  speaking  more  quickly  than  before.  "It  is  not 
only  that  she  has  not  come  back.  Fraulein  Hirsch  has 
presented  her  to  one  of  her  old  employers — a  Lady  Etynge. 
Eobin  was  delighted  with  her.  She  has  a  daughter  who  is 
in  France " 

"Marguerite  staying  with  her  aunt  in  Paris,"  suddenly 
put  in  the  voice  of  the  blunt-featured  man  from  his  side  of 
the  room. 

"Helene  at  a  Convent  in  Tours,"  corrected  Mademoiselle, 
turning  a  paling  countenance  towards  him  and  then  upon 
Coombe.  "Lady  Etynge  spoke  of  wanting  to  engage  some 
nice  girl  as  companion  to  her  daughter,  who  is  coming 
home.  Robin  thought  she  might  have  the  good  fortune 
to  please  her.  She  was  to  go  to  Lady  Etynge's  house  to 
tea  some  afternoon  and  be  shown  the  rooms  prepared  for 
Helene.  She  thought  the  mother  charming." 

"Did  she  mention  the  address?"  Coombe  asked  at  once. 

"The  house  was  in  Berford  Place — a  large  house  at  a 
corner.  She  chanced  to  see  Lady  Etynge  go  into  it  one 
day  or  we  should  not  have  known.  She  did  not  notice  the 
number.  Fraulein  Hirsch  thought  it  was  9  7 A.  I  have 
looked  through  the  Blue  Book,  Lord  Coombe — through 
the  Peerage — through  the  Directory! — There  is  no  Lady 
Etynge  and  there  is  no  97 A  in  Berford  Place!  That  is 
why  I  came  here." 

The  man  who  had  stood  aside,  stepped  forward  again. 
It  was  as  if  he  answered  some  sign,  though  Lord  Coombe 
at  the  moment  crossed  the  hearth  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Scotland  Yard  knows  that,  ma'am,"  said  the  man. 
"We've  had  our  eyes  on  that  house  for  two  weeks,  and  this 
kind  of  thing  is  what  we  want." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  273 

"The  double  brougham,"  was  Coombe's  order  to  the 
servant  who  answered  his  ring.  Then  he  came  back  to 
Mademoiselle. 

"Mr.  Barkstow  is  a  detective,"  he  said.  "Among  other 
things  he  has  done  for  me,  he  has,  for  some  time,  kept  a 
casual  eye  on  Robin.  She  is  too  lovely  a  child  and  too 
friendless  to  be  quite  safe.  There  are  blackguards  who 
know  when  a  girl  has  not  the  usual  family  protection.  He 
came  here  to  tell  me  that  she  had  been  seen  sitting  in 
Kensington  Gardens  with  a  woman  Scotland  Yard  has 
reason  to  suspect." 

"A  black  *un!"  said  Barkstow  savagely.  "If  she's  the 
one  we  think  she  is — a  black,  poisonous,  sly  one  with  a  face 
that  no  girl  could  suspect." 

Coombe's  still  countenance  was  so  deadly  in  the  slow 
lividness,  which  Mademoiselle  saw  began  to  manifest  itself, 
that  she  caught  his  sleeve  with  a  shaking  hand. 

"She's  nothing  but  a  baby!"  she  said.  "She  doesn't 
know  what  a  baby  she  is.  I  can  see  her  eyes  frantic  with 
terror  !  She'd  go  mad." 

"Good  God !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  so  low  it  was  scarcely 
audible. 

He  almost  dragged  her  out  of  the  room,  though,  as 
they  passed  through  the  hall,  the  servants  only  saw  that 
he  had  given  the  lady  his  arm — and  two  of  the  younger 
footmen  exchanged  glances  with  each  other  which  referred 
solely  to  the  inimitableness  of  the  cut  of  his  evening  over 
coat. 

When  they  entered  the  carriage,  Barkstow  entered  with 
them  and  Mademoiselle  Valle  leaned  forward  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  face  clutched  in  her  hands. 
She  was  trying  to  shut  out  from  her  mental  vision  a 
memory  of  Eobin's  eyes. 

"If — if  Fraulein  Hirsch  is — not  true,"  she  broke  out 


274  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

once,  "Count  von  Hillern  is  concerned.  It  has  come  upon 
me  like  a  flash.  Why  did  I  not  see  before  ?" 

The  party  at  the  big  house,  where  the  red  carpet 
was  rolled  across  the  pavement,  was  at  full  height  when 
they  drove  into  the  Place.  Their  brougham  did  not  stop 
at  the  corner  but  at  the  end  of  the  line  of  waiting  car 
riages. 

Coombe  got  out  and  looked  up  and  down  the  thorough 
fare. 

"It  must  be  done  quietly.  There  must  be  no  scandal," 
he  said.  "The  policeman  on  the  beat  is  an  enormous 
fellow.  You  will  attend  to  him,  Barkstow,"  and  Barkstow 
nodded  and  strolled  away. 

Coombe  walked  up  the  Place  and  down  on  the  opposite 
side  until  he  was  within  a  few  yards  of  the  corner  house. 
When  he  reached  this  point,  he  suddenly  quickened  his 
footsteps  because  he  saw  that  someone  else  was  approach 
ing  it  with  an  air  of  intention.  It  was  a  man,  not  quite  as 
tall  as  himself  but  of  heavier  build  and  with  square  held 
shoulders.  As  the  man  set  his  foot  upon  the  step,  Coombe 
touched  him  on  the  arm  and  said  something  in  German. 
The  man  started  angrily  and  then  suddenly  stood  quite 
still  and  erect. 

"It  will  be  better  for  us  to  walk  up  the  Place  together," 
Lord  Coombe  said,  with  perfect  politeness. 

If  he  could  have  been  dashed  down  upon  the  pavement 
and  his  head  hammered  in  with  the  handle  of  a  sword, 
or  if  he  could  have  been  run  through  furiously  again  and 
again,  either  or  both  of  these  things  would  have  been  done. 
But  neither  was  possible.  It  also  was  not  possible  to 
curse  aloud  in  a  fashionable  London  street.  Such  curses 
as  one  uttered  must  be  held  in  one's  foaming  mouth  be 
tween  one's  teeth.  Count  von  Hillern  knew  this  better 
than  most  men  would  have  known  it.  Here  was  one  of 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  275 

those  English  swine  with  whom  Germany  would  deal  in 
her  own  way  later. 

They  walked  back  together  as  if  they  were  acquaintances 
taking  a  casual  stroll. 

"There  is  nothing  which  would  so  infuriate  your— 
Master — as  a  disgraceful  scandal/'  Lord  Coombe's  high 
bred  voice  suggested  undisturbedly.  "The  high  honour  of 
a  German  officer — the  knightly  bearing  of  a  wearer  of  the 
uniform  of  the  All  Highest — that  sort  of  thing  you  know. 
All  that  sort  of  thing  I" 

Von  Hillern  ground  out  some  low  spoken  and  quite 
awful  German  words.  If  he  had  not  been  trapped — if  he 
had  been  in  some  quiet  by-street ! 

"The  man  walking  ahead  of  us  is  a  detective  from 
Scotland  Yard.  The  particularly  heavy  and  rather 
martial  tread  behind  us  is  that  of  a  policeman  much  more 
muscular  than  either  of  us.  There  is  a  ball  going  on  in 
the  large  house  with  the  red  carpet  spread  across  the  pave 
ment.  I  know  the  people  who  are  giving  it.  There  are 
a  good  many  coachmen  and  footmen  about.  Most  of  them 
would  probably  recognize  me." 

It  became  necessary  for  Count  von  Hillern  actually  to 
wipe  away  certain  flecks  of  foam  from  his  lips,  as  he 
ground  forth  again  more  varied  and  awful  sentiments  in 
his  native  tongue. 

"You  are  going  back  to  Berlin,"  said  Coombe,  coldly. 
"If  we  English  were  not  such  fools,  you  would  not  be  here. 
You  are,  of  course,  not  going  into  that  house." 

Von  Hillern  burst  into  a  derisive  laugh. 

"You  are  going  yourself,"  he  said.  "You  are  a  worn- 
out  old  roue,  but  you  are  mad  about  her  yourself  in  your 
senile  way." 

"You  should  respect  my  age  and  decrepitude,"  answered 
Coombe.  "A  certain  pity  for  my  gray  hairs  would  become 


276  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

your  youth.  Shall  we  turn  here  or  will  you  return  to  your 
hotel  by  some  other  way  ?"  He  felt  as  if  the  man  might 
burst  a  blood  vessel  if  he  were  obliged  to  further  restrain 
himself. 

Von  Hillern  wheeled  at  the  corner  and  confronted  him. 

"There  will  come  a  day "  he  almost  choked. 

"Der  Tag?  Naturally,"  the  chill  of  Coombe's  voice 
was  a  sound  to  drive  this  particular  man  at  this  particular, 
damnably-thwarted  moment,  raving  mad.  And  not  to  be 
able  to  go  mad !  Not  to  be  able ! 

"Swine  of  a  doddering  Englishman !  Who  would  envy 
you — trembling  on  your  lean  shanks — whatsoever  you  can 
buy  for  yourself.  I  spit  on  you — spit  I" 

"Don't,"  said  Coombe.  "You  are  sputtering  to  such  an 
extent  that  you  really  are,  you  know/' 

Von  Hillern  whirled  round  the  corner. 

Coombe,  left  alone,  stood  still  a  moment. 

"I  was  in  time,"  he  said  to  himself,  feeling  somewhat 
nauseated.  "By  extraordinary  luck,  I  was  in  time.  In 
earlier  days  one  would  have  said  something  about  'Prov 
idence'."  And  he  at  once  walked  back. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  WAS  not  utterly  dark  in  the  room,  though  Eobin, 
after  passing  her  hands  carefully  over  the  walls,  had 
found  no  electric  buttons  within  reach  nor  any  signs 
of  candles  or  matches  elsewhere.  The  night  sky  was  clear 
and  brilliant  with  many  stars,  and  this  gave  her  an  un 
shadowed  and  lighted  space  to  look  at.  She  went  to  the 
window  and  sat  down  on  the  floor,  huddled  against  the 
wall  with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees,  looking  up. 
She  did  this  in  the  effort  to  hold  in  check  a  rising  tide 
of  frenzy  which  threatened  her.  Perhaps,  if  she  could  fix 
her  eyes  on  the  vault  full  of  stars,  she  could  keep  herself 
from  going  out  of  her  mind.  Though,  perhaps,  it  would 
be  better  if  she  did  go  out  of  her  mind,  she  found  herself 
thinking  a  few  seconds  later. 

After  her  first  entire  acceptance  of  the  hideous  thing 
which  had  happened  to  her,  she  had  passed  through  nerve 
breaking  phases  of  terror-stricken  imaginings.  The  old 
story  of  the  drowning  man  across  whose  brain  rush  all  the 
images  of  life,  came  back  to  her.  She  did  not  know  where 
or  when  or  how  she  had  ever  heard  or  read  of  the  ghastly 
incidents  which  came  trooping  up  to  her  and  staring  at  her 
with  dead  or  mad  eyes  and  awful  faces.  Perhaps  they 
were  old  nightmares — perhaps  a  kind  of  delirium  had 
seized  her.  She  tried  to  stop  their  coming  by  saying  over 
and  over  again  the  prayers  Dowie  had  taught  her  when 
she  was  a  child.  And  then  she  thought,  with  a  sob  which 
choked  her,  that  perhaps  they  were  only  prayers  for  a 
safe  little  creature  kneeling  by  a  white  bed — and  did  not 

277 


278  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

apply  to  a  girl  locked  up  in  a  top  room,  which  nobody- 
knew  about.  Only  when  she  thought  of  Mademoiselle 
Vall6  and  Dowie  looking  for  her — with  all  London  spread 
out  before  their  helplessness — did  she  cry.  After  that, 
tears  seemed  impossible.  The  images  trooped  by  too  close 
to  her.  The  passion  hidden  within  her  being — which  had 
broken  out  when  she  tore  the  earth  under  the  shrubbery, 
and  which,  with  torture  staring  her  in  the  face,  had  leaped 
in  her  child's  soul  and  body  and  made  her  defy  Andrews 
with  shrieks — leaped  up  within  her  now.  She  became  a 
young  Fury,  to  whom  a  mad  fight  with  monstrous  death 
was  as  nothing.  She  told  herself  that  she  was  strong  for 
a  girl — that  she  could  tear  with  her  nails,  she  could  clench 
her  teeth  in  flesh,  she  could  shriek,  she  could  battle  like  a 
young  madwoman  so  that  they  would  be  forced  to  kill  her. 
This  was  one  of  the  images  which  rose  up  before  her  again 
and  yet  again.  A  hideous — hideous  thing,  which  would 
not  remain  away. 

She  had  not  had  any  food  since  the  afternoon  cup  of  tea 
and  she  began  to  feel  the  need  of  it.  If  she  became 
faint — !  She  lifted  her  face  desperately  as  she  said  it, 
and  she  saw  the  immense  blue  darkness,  powdered  with 
millions  of  stars  and  curving  over  her — as  it  curved  over 
the  hideous  house  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  How  high 
— how  immense — how  fathomlessly  still  it  was — how  it 
seemed  as  if  there  could  be  nothing  else — that  nothing 
else  could  be  real !  Her  hands  were  clenched  together  hard 
and  fiercely,  as  she  scrambled  to  her  knees  and  uttered  a 
sort  of  prayer — not  a  child's — rather  the  cry  of  a  young 
Fury  making  a  demand. 

"Perhaps  a  girl  is  Nothing,"  she  cried,  " — a  girl  locked 
up  in  a  room !  But,  perhaps,  she  is  Something — she  may 
be  real  too !  Save  me — save  me !  But  if  you  won't  save 
me,  let  me  be  killed !" 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  279 

She  knelt  silent  after  it  for  a  few  minutes  and  then  she 
sank  down  and  lay  on  the  floor  with  her  face  on  her  arm. 

How  it  was  possible  that  even  young  and  worn-out  as 
she  was,  such  peace  as  sleep  could  overcome  her  at  such  a 
time,  one  cannot  say.  But  in  the  midst  of  her  torment  she 
was  asleep. 

But  it  was  not  for  long.  She  wakened  with  a  start  and 
sprang  to  her  feet  shivering.  The  carriages  were  still 
coming  and  going  with  guests  for  the  big  house  opposite. 
It  could  not  be  late,  though  she  seemed  to  have  been  in  the 
place  for  years — long  enough  to  feel  that  it  was  the  hideous 
centre  of  the  whole  earth  and  all  sane  and  honest  memories 
were  a  dream.  She  thought  she  would  begin  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room. 

But  a  sound  she  heard  at  this  very  instant  made  her 
stand  stock  still.  She  had  known  there  would  be  a  sound 
at  last — she  had  waited  for  it  all  the  time — she  had  known, 
of  course,  that  it  would  come,  but  she  had  not  even  tried 
to  guess  whether  she  would  hear  it  early  or  late.  It  would 
be  the  sound  of  the  turning  of  the  handle  of  the  locked 
door.  It  had  come.  There  it  was!  The  click  of  the 
lock  first  and  then  the  creak  of  the  turned  handle ! 

She  went  to  the  window  again  and  stood  with  her  back 
against  it,  so  that  her  body  was  outlined  against  the  faint 
light.  Would  the  person  come  in  the  dark,  or  would  he 
carry  a  light?  Something  began  to  whirl  in  her  brain. 
What  was  the  low,  pumping  thump  she  seemed  to  hear  and 
feel  at  the  same  time  ?  It  was  the  awful  thumping  of  her 
heart. 

The  door  opened — not  stealthily,  but  quite  in  the  ordin 
ary  way.  The  person  who  came  in  did  not  move  stealthily 
either.  He  came  in  as  though  he  were  making  an  evening 
call.  How  tall  and  straight  his  body  was,  with  a  devilish 
elegance  of  line  against  the  background  of  light  in  the  hall. 


280  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

She  thought  she  saw  a  white  flower  on  his  lapel  as  his 
overcoat  fell  back.  The  leering  footman  had  opened  the 
door  for  him. 

"Turn  on  the  lights/*  A  voice  she  knew  gave  the  order, 
and  the  leering  footman  obeyed,  touching  a  spot  high  on 
the  wall. 

She  had  vaguely  and  sickeningly  felt  almost  sure  that  it 
would  be  either  Count  von  Hillern  or  Lord  Coombe — and 
it  was  not  Count  von  Hillern!  The  cold  wicked  face — 
the  ironic  eyes  which  made  her  creep — the  absurd,  elderly 
perfection  of  dress — even  the  flawless  flower — made  her 
flesh  quake  with  repulsion.  If  Satan  came  into  the  room, 
he  might  look  like  that  and  make  one's  revolting  being 
quake  so. 

"I  thought — it  might  be  you,"  the  strange  girl's  voice 
said  to  him  aloud. 

"Kobin,"  he  said. 

He  was  moving  towards  her  and,  as  she  threw  out  her 
madly  clenched  little  hands,  he  stopped  and  drew  back. 

"Why  did  you  think  I  might  come  ?"  he  asked. 

"Because  you  are  the  kind  of  a  man  who  would  do  the 
things  only  devils  would  do.  I  have  hated — hated — hated 
you  since  I  was  a  baby.  Come  and  kill  me  if  you  like. 
Call  the  footman  back  to  help  you,  if  you  like.  I  can't 
get  away.  Kill  me — kill  me — kill  me !" 

She  was  lost  in  her  frenzy  and  looked  as  if  she  were  mad. 

One  moment  he  hesitated,  and  then  he  pointed  politely 
to  the  sofa. 

"Go  and  sit  down,  please,"  he  suggested.  It  was  no 
more  than  courteous  suggestion.  "I  shall  remain  here. 
I  have  no  desire  to  approach  you — if  you'll  pardon  my 
saying  so." 

But  she  would  not  leave  the  window. 

"It  is  natural  that  you  should  be  overwrought,"  he  said. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  281 

"This  is  a  damnable  thing.  You  are  too  young  to  know 
the  worst  of  it." 

"You  are  the  worst  of  it !"  she  cried.    "You." 

"No,"  as  the  chill  of  his  even  voice  struck  her,  she 
wondered  if  he  were  really  human.  "Von  Hillern  would 
have  been  the  worst  of  it.  I  stopped  him  at  the  front  door 
and  knew  how  to  send  him  away.  Now,  listen,  my  good 
child.  Hate  me  as  ferociously  as  you  like.  That  is  a 
detail.  You  are  in  the  house  of  a  woman  whose  name 
stands  for  shame  and  infamy  and  crime/' 

"What  are  you  doing  in  it — "  she  cried  again,  " — in  a 
place  where  girls  are  trapped — and  locked  up  in  top 
rooms — to  be  killed  ?" 

"I  came  to  take  you  away.  I  wish  to  do  it  quietly.  It 
would  be  rather  horrible  if  the  public  discovered  that  you 
have  spent  some  hours  here.  If  I  had  not  slipped  in  when 
they  were  expecting  von  Hillern,  and  if  the  servants  were 
not  accustomed  to  the  quiet  entrance  of  well  dressed  men, 
I  could  not  have  got  in  without  an  open  row  and  the  calling 
of  the  policemen, — which  I  wished  to  avoid.  Also,  the 
woman  downstairs  knows  me  and  realized  that  I  was  not 
lying  when  I  said  the  house  was  surrounded  and  she  was 
on  the  point  of  being  'run  in'.  She  is  a  woman  of  broad 
experience,  and  at  once  knew  that  she  might  as  well  keep 
quiet." 

Despite  his  cold  eyes  and  the  bad  smile  she  hated,  despite 
his  almost  dandified  meticulous  attire  and  the  festal  note 
of  his  white  flower,  which  she  hated  with  the  rest — he  was, 
perhaps,  not  lying  to  her.  Perhaps  for  the  sake  of  her 
mother  he  had  chosen  to  save  her — and,  being  the  man  he 
was,  he  had  been  able  to  make  use  of  his  past  experiences. 

She  began  to  creep  away  from  the  window,  and  she  felt 
her  legs,  all  at  once,  shaking  under  her.  By  the  time  she 
reached  the  Chesterfield  sofa  she  fell  down  by  it  and  began 


282  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

to  cry.  A  sort  of  hysteria  seized  her,  and  she  shook  from 
head  to  foot  and  clutched  at  the  upholstery  with  weak 
hands  which  clawed.  She  was,  indeed,  an  awful,  piteous 
sight.  He  was  perhaps  not  lying,  but  she  was  afraid  of 
him  yet. 

"I  told  the  men  who  are  waiting  outside  that  if  I  did 
not  bring  you  out  in  half  an  hour,  they  were  to  break  into 
the  house.  I  do  not  wish  them  to  break  in.  We  have  not 
any  time  to  spare.  What  you  are  doing  is  quite  natural, 
but  you  must  try  to  get  up."  He  stood  by  her  and  said 
this  looking  down  at  her  slender,  wrung  body  and  lovely, 
groveling  head. 

He  took  a  flask  out  of  his  overcoat  pocket — and  it  was 
a  gem  of  goldsmith's  art.  He  poured  some  wine  into  its 
cup  and  bent  forward  to  hold  it  out  to  her. 

"Drink  this  and  try  to  stand  on  your  feet,"  he  said. 
He  knew  better  than  to  try  to  help  her  to  rise — to  touch  her 
in  any  way.  Seeing  to  what  the  past  hours  had  reduced 
her,  he  knew  better.  There  was  mad  fear  in  her  eyes 
when  she  lifted  her  head  and  threw  out  her  hand  again. 

"No !  No !"  she  cried  out.  "No,  I  will  drink  nothing  I" 
He  understood  at  once  and  threw  the  wine  into  the  grate. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "You  might  think  it  might  be  drugged. 
You  are  right.  It  might  be.  I  ought  to  have  thought  of 
that."  He  returned  the  flask  to  his  pocket.  "Listen 
again.  You  must.  The  time  will  soon  be  up  and  we  must 
not  let  those  fellows  break  in  and  make  a  row  that  will 
collect  a  crowd.  We  must  go  at  once.  Mademoiselle 
Valle  is  waiting  for  you  in  my  carriage  outside.  You 
will  not  be  afraid  to  drink  wine  she  gives  you." 

"Mademoiselle!"  she  stammered. 

"Yes.  In  my  carriage,  which  is  not  fifty  yards  from 
the  house.  Can  you  stand  on  your  feet  ?"  She  got  up  and 
etood,  but  she  was  still  shuddering  all  over. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  283 

"Can  you  walk  downstairs?  If  you  cannot,  will  you 
let  me  carry  you?  I  am  strong  enough — in  spite  of  my 
years." 

"I  can  walk/'  she  whispered. 

"Will  you  take  my  arm  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  awful,  broken- 
spirited  eyes. 

"Yes.     I  will  take  your  arm." 

He  offered  it  to  her  with  rigid  punctiliousness  of  manner. 
He  did  not  even  look  at  her.  He  led  her  out  of  the  room 
and  down  the  three  nights  of  stairs.  As  they  passed  by 
the  open  drawing-room  door,  the  lovely  woman  who  had 
called  herself  Lady  Etynge  stood  near  it  and  watched  them 
with  eyes  no  longer  gentle. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Madam/'  he  said; 
"When  I  place  this  young  lady  in  the  hands  of  her  gov 
erness,  I  will  come  back  and  say  it." 

"Is  her  governess  Fraulein  Hirsch?"  asked  the  woman 
lightly. 

"No.  She  is  doubtless  on  her  way  back  to  Berlin — 
and  von  Hillern  will  follow  her." 

There  was  only  the  first  floor  flight  of  stairs  now. 
Eobin  could  scarcely  see  her  way.  But  Lord  Coombe  held 
her  up  firmly  and,  in  a  few  moments  more,  the  leering 
footman,  grown  pale,  opened  the  large  door,  they  crossed 
the  pavement  to  the  carriage,  and  she  was  helped  in  and 
fell,  almost  insensible,  across  Mademoiselle  Valle's  lap, 
and  was  caught  in  a  strong  arm  which  shook  as  she  did. 

"Ma  cherie,"  she  heard,  "The  Good  God !  Oh,  the  good 
— good  God ! — And  Lord  Coombe  !  Lord  Coombe !" 

Coombe  had  gone  back  to  the  house.  Four  men  re 
turned  with  him,  two  in  plain  clothes  and  two  heavily- 
built  policemen.  They  remained  below,  but  Coombe  went 
up  the  staircase  with  the  swift  lightness  of  a  man  of  thirty. 


284  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

He  merely  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  drawing- 
room.  This  was  what  he  said,  and  his  face  was  entirely 
white  and  his  eyes  appalling. 

"My  coming  back  to  speak  to  you  is — superfluous — and 
the  result  of  pure  fury.  I  allow  it  to  myself  as  mere 
shameless  indulgence.  More  is  known  against  you  than 
this — things  which  have  gone  farther  and  fared  worse. 
You  are  not  young  and  you  are  facing  years  of  life  in 
prison.  Your  head  will  be  shaved — your  hands  worn  and 
blackened  and  your  nails  broken  with  the  picking  of 
oakum.  You  will  writhe  in  hopeless  degradation  until 
you  are  done  for.  You  will  have  time,  in  the  night  black 
ness  of  your  cell,  to  remember — to  see  faces — to  hear 
cries.  Women  such  as  you  should  learn  what  hell  on 
earth  means.  You  will  learn." 

When  he  ended,  the  woman  hung  with  her  back  to  the 
wall  she  had  staggered  against,  her  mouth  opening  and 
shutting  helplessly  but  letting  forth  no  sound. 

He  took  out  an  exquisitely  fresh  handkerchief  and 
touched  his  forehead  because  it  was  damp.  His  eyes  were 
still  appalling,  but  his  voice  suddenly  dropped  and 
changed. 

"I  have  allowed  myself  to  feel  like  a  madman,"  he  said. 
"It  has  been  a  rich  experience — good  for  such  soul  as  I 
own." 

He  went  downstairs  and  walked  home  because  his 
carriage  had  taken  Robin  and  Mademoiselle  back  to  the 
slice  of  a  house. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

VON  Hillern  made  no  further  calls  on  Mrs.  Gareth- 
Lawless.  His  return  to  Berlin  was  immediate  and 
Fraulein  Hirsch  came  no  more  to  give  lessons  in 
German.  Later,  Coombe  learned  from  the  man  with  the 
steady,  blunt-featured  face,  that  she  had  crossed  the 
Channel  on  a  night  boat  not  many  hours  after  von  Hillern 
had  walked  away  from  Berford  Place.  The  exact  truth 
was  that  she  had  been  miserably  prowling  about  the 
adjacent  streets,  held  in  the  neighbourhood  by  some  self- 
torturing  morbidness,  half  thwarted  helpless  passion,  half 
triumphing  hatred  of  the  young  thing  she  had  betrayed. 
Up  and  down  the  streets  she  had  gone,  round  and  round, 
wringing  her  lean  fingers  together  and  tasting  on  her  lips 
the  salt  of  tears  which  rolled  down  her  cheeks — tears  of 
torment  and  rage. 

There  was  the  bitterness  of  death  in  what,  by  a  mere 
trick  of  chance,  came  about.  As  she  turned  a  corner 
telling  herself  for  the  hundredth  time  that  she  must  go 
home,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  splendid  figure 
swinging  furiously  along.  She  staggered  at  the  sight  of 
the  tigerish  rage  in  the  white  face  she  recognized  with  a 
gasp.  It  was  enough  merely  to  behold  it.  He  had  met 
with  some  disastrous  humiliation ! 

As  for  him,  the  direct  intervention  of  that  Heaven 
whose  special  care  he  was,  had  sent  him  a  woman  to  punish 
— which,  so  far,  was  at  least  one  thing  arranged  as  it 
should  be.  He  knew  so  well  how  he  could  punish  her 
with  his  mere  contempt  and  displeasure — as  he  could  lash 

285 


286  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

a  spaniel  crawling  at  his  feet.  He  need  not  deign  to  tell 
her  what  had  happened,  and  he  did  not.  He  merely  drew 
back  and  stood  in  stiff  magnificence  looking  down  at  her. 

"It  is  through  some  folly  of  yours/'  he  dropped  in  a 
voice  of  vitriol.  "Women  are  always  foolish.  They  can 
not  hold  their  tongues  or  think  clearly.  Eeturn  to  Berlin 
at  once.  You  are  not  of  those  whose  conduct  I  can  com 
mend  to  be  trusted  in  the  future." 

He  was  gone  before  she  could  have  spoken  even  if  she 
had  dared.  Sobbing  gasps  caught  her  breath  as  she  stood 
and  watched  him  striding  pitilessly  and  superbly  away 
with,  what  seemed  to  her  abject  soul,  the  swing  and  tread 
of  a  martial  god.  Her  streaming  tears  tasted  salt  indeed. 
She  might  never  see  him  again — even  from  a  distance. 
She  would  be  disgraced  and  flung  aside  as  a  blundering 
woman.  She  had  obeyed  his  every  word  and  done  her 
straining  best,  as  she  had  licked  the  dust  at  his  feet — 
but  he  would  never  cast  a  glance  at  her  in  the  future  or 
utter  to  her  the  remotest  word  of  his  high  commands.  She 
so  reeled  as  she  went  her  wretched  way  that  a  good-natured 
policeman  said  to  her  as  he  passed, 

"Steady  on,  my  girl.    Best  get  home  and  go  to  bed." 

To  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless,  it  was  stated  by  Coombe  that 
Fraulein  Hirsch  had  been  called  back  to  Germany  by 
family  complications.  That  august  orders  should  recall 
Count  yon  Hillern,  was  easily  understood.  Such  magnif 
icent  persons  never  shone  upon  society  for  any  length  of 
time. 

That  Feather  had  been  making  a  country  house  visit 
when  her  daughter  had  faced  tragedy  was  considered  by 
Lord  Coombe  as  a  fortunate  thing. 

"We  will  not  alarm  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  by  telling  her 
what  has  occurred,"  he  said  to  Mademoiselle  Valle.  "What 
we  most  desire  is  that  no  one  shall  suspect  that  the  hideous 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  287 

thing  took  place.  A  person  who  was  forgetful  or  careless 
might,  unintentionally,  let  some  word  escape  which " 

What  he  meant,  and  what  Mademoiselle  Valle  knew  he 
meant — also  what  he  knew  she  knew  he  meant — was  that  a 
woman,  who  was  a  heartless  fool,  without  sympathy  or 
perception,  would  not  have  the  delicacy  to  feel  that  the 
girl  must  be  shielded,  and  might  actually  see  a  sort  of 
ghastly  joke  in  a  story  of  Mademoiselle  Valle's  sacrosanct 
charge  simply  walking  out  of  her  enshrining  arms  into 
such  a  "ga!6re"  as  the  most  rackety  and  adventurous  of 
pupils  could  scarcely  have  been  led  into.  Such  a  point 
of  view  would  have  been  quite  possible  for  Feather — even 
probable,  in  the  slightly  spiteful  attitude  of  her  light  mind. 

"She  was  away  from  home.  Only  you  and  I  and  Dowie 
know,"  answered  Mademoiselle. 

"Let  us  remain  the  only  persons  who  know/*  said 
Coombe.  "Kobin  will  say  nothing." 

They  both  knew  that.  She  had  been  feverish  and  ill 
for  several  days  and  Dowie  had  kept  her  in  bed  saying 
that  she  had  caught  cold.  Neither  of  the  two  women  had 
felt  it  possible  to  talk  to  her.  She  had  lain  staring  with 
a  deadly  quiet  fixedness  straight  before  her,  saying  next 
to  nothing.  Now  and  then  she  shuddered,  and  once  she 
broke  into  a  mad,  heart-broken  fit  of  crying  which  she 
seemed  unable  to  control. 

"Everything  is  changed,"  she  said  to  Dowie  and 
Mademoiselle  who  sat  on  either  side  of  her  bed,  sometimes 
pressing  her  head  down  onto  a  kind  shoulder,  sometimes 
holding  her  hand  and  patting  it.  "I  shall  be  afraid  of 
everybody  forever.  People  who  have  sweet  faces  and  kind 
voices  will  make  me  shake  all  over.  Oh !  She  seemed  so 
kind — so  kind!" 

It  was  Dowie  whose  warm  shoulder  her  face  was  hidden 
on  this  time,  and  Dowie  was  choked  with  sobs  she  dared 


288  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

not  let  loose.  She  could  only  squeeze  hard  and  kiss  the 
"silk  curls  all  in  a  heap" — poor,  tumbled  curls,  no  longer 
a  child's ! 

"Aye,  my  lamb !"  she  managed  to  say.  "Bowie's  poor 
pet  lamb !" 

"It's  the  knowing  that  kind  eyes — kind  ones — !"  she 
broke  off,  panting.  "It's  the  knowing!  I  didn't  know 
before !  I  knew  nothing.  Now,  it's  all  over.  I'm  afraid 
of  all  the  world !" 

"Not  all,  cherie,"  breathed  Mademoiselle. 

She  sat  upright  against  her  pillows.  The  mirror  on  a 
dressing  table  reflected  her  image — her  blooming  tear-wet 
youth,  framed  in  the  wonderful  hair  falling  a  shadow  about 
her.  She  stared  at  the  reflection  hard  and  questioningly. 

"I  suppose,"  her  voice  was  pathos  itself  in  its  helpless 
ness,  "it  is  because  what  you  once  told  me  about  being 
pretty,  is  true.  A  girl  who  looks  like  that/  pointing  her 
finger  at  the  glass,  "need  not  think  she  can  earn  her  own 
living.  I  loathe  it,"  in  fierce  resentment  as  at  some 
bitter  injustice.  "It  is  like  being  a  person  under  a  curse  !" 

At  this  Dowie  broke  down  openly  and  let  her  tears  run 
fast.  "No,  no!  You  mustn't  say  it  or  think  it,  my 
dearie!"  she  wept.  "It  might  call  down  a  blight  on  it. 
You  a  young  thing  like  a  garden  flower !  And  someone — 
somewhere — God  bless  him — that  some  day^ll  glory  in  it — 
and  you'll  glory  too.  Somewhere  he  is — somewhere !" 

"Let  none  of  them  look  at  me !"  cried  Robin.  "I  loathe 
them,  too.  I  hate  everything — and  everybody — but  you 
two — just  you  two." 

Mademoiselle  took  her  in  her  arms  this  time  when  she 
sobbed  again.  Mademoiselle  knew  how  at  this  hour  it 
seemed  to  her  that  all  her  world  was  laid  bare  forever 
more.  When  the  worst  of  the  weeping  was  over  and  she 
lay  quiet,  but  for  the  deep  catching  breaths  which  lifted 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  289 

her  breast  in  slow,  childish  shudders  at  intervals,  she  held 
Mademoiselle  Valle's  hand  and  looked  at  her  with  a  faint, 
wry  smile. 

"You  were  too  kind  to  tell  me  what  a  stupid  little  fool 
I  was  when  I  talked  to  you  about  taking  a  place  in  an 
office !"  she  said.  "I  know  now  that  you  would  not  have 
allowed  me  to  do  the  things  I  was  so  sure  I  could  do.  It 
was  only  my  ignorance  and  conceit.  I  can't  answer  adver 
tisements.  Any  bad  person  can  say  what  they  choose  in 
an  advertisement.  If  that  woman  had  advertised,  she 
would  have  described  Helene.  And  there  was  no  Helene." 
One  of  the  shuddering  catches  of  her  breath  broke  in  here. 
After  it,  she  said,  with  a  pitiful  girlishness  of  regret: 
"I — I  could  see  Helene.  I  have  known  so  few  people  well 
enough  to  love  them.  No  girls  at  all.  I  thought — per 
haps — we  should  begin  to  love  each  other.  I  can't  bear 
to  think  of  that — that  she  never  was  alive  at  all.  It  leaves 
a  sort  of  empty  place." 

When  she  had  sufficiently  recovered  herself  to  be  up 
again,  Mademoiselle  Valle  said  to  her  that  she  wished 
her  to  express  her  gratitude  to  Lord  Coombe. 

"I  will  if  you  wish  it,"  she  answered. 

"Don't  you  feel  that  it  is  proper  that  you  should  do  it  ? 
Do  you  not  wish  it  yourself?"  inquired  Mademoiselle. 
Robin  looked  down  at  the  carpet  for  some  seconds. 

"I  know,"  she  at  last  admitted,  "that  it  is  proper.  But 
I  don't  wish  to  do  it." 

"No  ?"  said  Mademoiselle  Valle. 

Robin  raised  her  eyes  from  the  carpet  and  fixed  them 
on  her. 

"It  is  because  of — reasons,"  she  said.  "It  is  part  of  the 
horror  I  want  to  forget.  Even  you  mayn't  know  what  it 
has  done  to  me.  Perhaps  I  am  turning  into  a  girl  with 
a  bad  mind.  Bad  thoughts  keep  swooping  down  on  me — 


290  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

like  great  black  ravens.  Lord  Coombe  saved  me,  but  I 
think  hideous  things  about  him.  I  heard  Andrews  say 
he  was  bad  when  I  was  too  little  to  know  what  it  meant. 
Now,  I  know,  I  remember  that  lie  knew  because  he  chose 
to  know — of  his  own  free  will.  He  knew  that  woman  and 
she  knew  him.  How  did  he  know  her  ?"  She  took  a  for 
ward  step  which  brought  her  nearer  to  Mademoiselle.  "I 
never  told  you  but  I  will  tell  you  now/'  she  confessed, 
"When  the  door  opened  and  I  saw  him  standing  against 
the  light  I — I  did  not  think  he  had  come  to  save  me." 

"Mon  Dieu!"  breathed  Mademoiselle  in  soft  horror. 

"He  knows  I  am  pretty.  He  is  an  old  man  but  he  knows. 
Fraulein  Hirsch  once  made  me  feel  actually  sick  by  telling 
me,  in  her  meek,  sly,  careful  way,  that  he  liked  beautiful 
girls  and  the  people  said  he  wanted  a  young  wife  and  had 
his  eye  on  me.  I  was  rude  to  her  because  it  made  me  so 
furious.  How  did  he  know  that  woman  so  well?  You 
see  how  bad  I  have  been  made !" 

"He  knows  nearly  all  Europe.  He  has  seen  the  dark 
corners  as  well  as  the  bright  places.  Perhaps  he  has 
saved  other  girls  from  her.  He  brought  her  to  punish 
ment,  and  was  able  to  do  it  because  he  has  been  on  her 
track  for  some  time.  You  are  not  bad — but  unjust. 
You  have  had  too  great  a  shock  to  be  able  to  reason  sanely 
just  yet." 

"I  think  he  will  always  make  me  creep  a  little,"  said 
Eobin,  "but  I  will  say  anything  you  think  I  ought  to  say." 

On  an  occasion  when  Feather  had  gone  again  to  make  a 
visit  in  the  country,  Mademoiselle  came  into  the  sitting 
room  with  the  round  window  in  which  plants  grew,  and 
Coombe  followed  her.  Robin  looked  up  from  her  book 
with  a  little  start  and  then  stood  up. 

"I  have  told  Lord  Coombe  that  you  wish — that  I  wish 
you  to  thank  him,"  Mademoiselle  Valle  said. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  291 

"I  came  on  my  own  part  to  tell  you  that  any  expression 
of  gratitude  is  entirely  unnecessary,"  said  Coombe. 

"I  must  be  grateful.  I  am  grateful."  Robin's  colour 
slowly  faded  as  she  said  it.  This  was  the  first  time  she  had 
seen  him  since  he  had  supported  her  down  the  staircase 
which  mounted  to  a  place  of  hell. 

"There  is  nothing  to  which  I  should  object  so  much  as 
being  regarded  as  a  benefactor/'  he  answered  definitely, 
but  with  entire  lack  of  warmth.  "The  role  does  not 
suit  me.  Being  an  extremely  bad  man/'  he  said  it  as  one 
who  speaks  wholly  without  prejudice,  "my  experience  is 
wide.  I  chance  to  know  things.  The  woman  who  called 
herself  Lady  Etynge  is  of  a  class  which — which  does  not 
count  me  among  its  clients.  I  had  put  certain  authorities 
on  her  track — which  was  how  I  discovered  your  where 
abouts  when  Mademoiselle  Valle  told  me  that  you  had 
gone  to  take  tea  with  her.  Mere  chance  you  see.  Don't 
be  grateful  to  me,  I  beg  of  you,  but  to  Mademoiselle  Valle." 

"Why,"  faltered  Robin,  vaguely  repelled  as  much  as 
ever,  "did  it  matter  to  you?" 

"Because,"  he  answered — Oh,  the  cold  inhumanness  of 
his  gray  eye  ! — "you  happened  to  live  in — this  house." 

"I  thought  that  was  perhaps  the  reason,"  she  said — 
and  she  felt  that  he  made  her  "creep"  even  a  shade  more. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  added,  suddenly  remembering, 
"Please  sit  down." 

"Thank  you/'  as  he  sat.  "I  will  because  I  have  some 
thing  more  to  say  to  you." 

Eobin  and  Mademoiselle  seated  themselves  also  and 
listened. 

"There  are  hideous  aspects  of  existence  which  are  not  con 
sidered  necessary  portions  of  a  girl's  education,"  he  began. 

"They  ought  to  be,"  put  in  Robin,  and  her  voice  was 
as  hard  as  it  was  young. 


292  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

It  was  a  long  and  penetrating  look  he  gave  her. 

"I  am  not  an  instructor  of  Youth.  I  have  not  been 
called  upon  to  decide.  I  do  not  feel  it  my  duty  to  go  even 
now  into  detail." 

"You  need  not/'  broke  in  the  hard  young  voice.  "I 
know  everything  in  the  world.  I'm  black  with  knowing." 

"Mademoiselle  Valle  will  discuss  that  point  with  you. 
What  you  have,  unfortunately,  been  forced  to  learn  is  that 
it  is  not  safe  for  a  girl — even  a  girl  without  beauty — to 
act  independently  of  older  people,  unless  she  has  found 
out  how  to  guard  herself  against — devils."  The  words 
broke  from  him  sharply,  with  a  sudden  incongruous  hint  of 
ferocity  which  was  almost  startling.  "You  have  been 
frightened,"  he  said  next,  "and  you  have  discovered  that 
there  are  devils,  but  you  have  not  sufficient  experience  to 
guard  yourself  against  them/' 

"I  have  been  so  frightened  that  I  shall  be  a  coward — a 
coward  all  my  life.  I  shall  be  afraid  of  every  face  I  see — 
the  more  to  be  trusted  they  look,  the  more  I  shall  fear 
them.  I  hate  every  one  in  the  world !" 

Her  quite  wonderful  eyes — so  they  struck  Lord  Coombe 
— flamed  with  a  child's  outraged  anguish.  A  thunder 
shower  of  tears  broke  and  rushed  down  her  cheeks,  and  he 
rose  and,  walking  quietly  to  the  window  full  of  flowers, 
stood  with  his  back  to  her  for  a  few  moments.  She 
neither  cared  nor  knew  whether  it  was  because  her  hysteric 
emotion  bored  and  annoyed  him,  or  because  he  had  the 
taste  to  realize  that  she  would  not  wish  to  be  looked  at. 
Unhappy  youth  can  feel  no  law  but  its  own. 

But  all  was  over  during  the  few  moments,  and  he  turned 
and  walked  back  to  his  chair. 

"You  want  very  much  to  do  some  work  which  will  insure 
your  entire  independence — to  take  some  situation  which 
will  support  you  without  aid  from  others?  You  are  not 


yet  prepared  to  go  out  and  take  the  first  place  which  offers. 
You  have  been — as  you  say — too  hideously  frightened, 
and  you  know  there  are  dangers  in  wandering  about  un- 
guided.  Mademoiselle  Valle,"  turning  his  head,  "perhaps 
you  will  tell  her  what  you  know  of  the  Duchess  of  Darte  ?" 

Upon  which,  Mademoiselle  Valle  took  hold  of  her  hand 
and  entered  into  a  careful  explanation. 

"She  is  a  great  personage  of  whom  there  can  be  no 
•doubt.  She  was  a  lady  of  the  Court.  She  is  of  advanced 
years  and  an  invalid  and  has  a  liking  for  those  who  are 
pretty  and  young.  She  desires  a  companion  who  is  well 
educated  and  young  and  fresh  of  mind.  The  companion 
who  had  been  with  her  for  many  years  recently  died.  If 
you  took  her  place  you  would  live  with  her  in  her  town 
house  and  go  with  her  to  the  country  after  the  season. 
Your  salary  would  be  liberal  and  no  position  could  be  more 
protected  and  dignified.  I  have  seen  and  talked  to  her 
grace  myself,  and  she  will  allow  me  to  take  you  to  her,  if 
you  desire  to  go." 

"Do  not  permit  the  fact  that  she  has  known  me  for  many 
years  to  prejudice  you  against  the  proposal,"  said  Coombe. 
"You  might  perhaps  regard  it  rather  as  a  sort  of  guarantee 
of  my  conduct  in  the  matter.  She  knows  the  worst  of  me 
and  still  allows  me  to  retain  her  acquaintance.  She  was 
brilliant  and  full  of  charm  when  she  was  a  young  woman, 
and  she  is  even  more  so  now  because  she  is — of  a  rarity ! 
If  I  were  a  girl  and  might  earn  my  living  in  her  service, 
I  should  feel  that  fortune  had  been  good  to  me — good." 

Kobin's  eyes  turned  from  one  of  them  to  the  other — 
from  Coombe  to  Mademoiselle  Valle,  and  from  Made 
moiselle  to  Coombe  pathetically. 

"You — you  see — what  has  been  done  to  me,"  she  said. 
"A  few  weeks  ago  I  should  have  known  that  God  was  pro 
viding  for  me — taking  care  of  me.  And  now — I  am  still 


294  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

afraid.  I  feel  as  if  she  would  see  that — that  I  am  not 
young  and  fresh  any  more  but  black  with  evil.  I  am 
afraid  of  her — I  am  afraid  of  you,"  to  Coombe,  "and  of 
myself." 

Coombe  rose,  evidently  to  go  away. 

"But  you  are  not  afraid  of  Mademoiselle  Valle,"  he  put 
it  to  her.  "She  will  provide  the  necessary  references  for 
the  Duchess.  I  will  leave  her  to  help  you  to  decide." 

Robin  rose  also.  She  wondered  if  she  ought  not  to 
hold  out  her  hand.  Perhaps  he  saw  her  slight  movement. 
He  himself  made  none. 

"I  remember  you  objected  to  shaking  handrf  as  a  child," 
he  said,  with  an  impersonal  civil  emile,  and  the  easy 
punctiliousness  of  his  bow  made  it  impossible  for  her  to 
go  further. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

SOME  days  before  this  the  Duchess  of  Darte  had 
driven  out  in  the  morning  to  make  some  purchases 
and  as  she  had  sat  in  her  large  landau  she  had 
greatly  missed  Miss  Brent  who  had  always  gone  with  her 
when  she  had  made  necessary  visits  to  the  shops.  She 
was  not  fond  of  shopping  and  Miss  Brent  had  privately 
found  pleasure  in  it  which  had  made  her  a  cheerful 
companion.  To  the  quiet  elderly  woman  whose  life  prev 
ious  to  her  service  with  this  great  lady  had  been  spent  in 
struggles  with  poverty,  the  mere  incident  of  entering  shops 
and  finding  eager  salesmen  springing  forward  to  meet  her 
with  bows  and  amiable  offers  of  ministration,  was  to  the 
end  of  her  days  an  almost  thrilling  thing.  The  Duchess 
bought  splendidly  though  quietly.  Knowing  always  what 
she  wanted,  she  merely  required  that  it  be  produced,  and 
after  silently  examining  it  gave  orders  that  it  should  be 
sent  to  her.  There  was  a  dignity  in  her  decision  which 
was  impressive.  She  never  gave  trouble  or  hesitated. 
The  staffs  of  employees  in  the  large  shops  knew  and  reveled 
in  her  while  they  figuratively  bent  the  knee.  Miss  Brent 
had  been  a  happy  satisfied  woman  while  she  had  lived. 
She  had  died  peacefully  after  a  brief  and,  as  it  seemed 
at  first,  unalarming  illness  at  one  of  her  employer's  country 
houses  to  which  she  had  been  amiably  sent  down  for  a 
holiday.  Every  kindness  and  attention  had  been  bestowed 
upon  her  and  only  a  few  moments  before  she  fell  into  her 
last  sleep  she  had  been  talking  pleasantly  of  her  mistress. 
"She  is  a  very  great  lady,  Miss  Hallam,"  she  had  said  to 
her  nurse.  "She's  the  last  of  her  kind  I  often  think, 

295 


296  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Very  great  ladies  seem  to  have  gone  out — if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  They've  gone  out." 

The  Duchess  had  in  fact  said  of  Brent  as  she  stood  a 
few  days  later  beside  her  coffin  and  looked  down  at  her 
contentedly  serene  face,  something  not  unlike  what  Brent 
had  said  of  herself. 

"You  were  a  good  friend,  Brent,  my  dear,"  she  mur 
mured.  "I  shall  always  miss  you.  I  am  afraid  there  are 
no  more  like  you  left." 

She  was  thinking  of  her  all  the  morning  as  she  drove 
slowly  down  to  Bond  Street  and  Piccadilly.  As  she  got  out 
of  her  carriage  to  go  into  a  shop  she  was  attracted  by  some 
photographs  of  beauties  in  a  window  and  paused  to  glance 
at  them.  Many  of  them  were  beauties  whom  she  knew,  but 
among  them  were  some  of  society's  latest  discoveries. 
The  particular  photographs  which  caught  her  eye  were 
two  which  had  evidently  been  purposely  placed  side  by 
side  for  an  interesting  reason.  The  reason  was  that  the 
two  women,  while  obviously  belonging  to  periods  of  some 
twenty  years  apart  as  the  fashion  of  their  dress  proved, 
were  in  face  and  form  so  singularly  alike  that  they  bewil- 
deringly  suggested  that  they  were  the  same  person.  Both 
were  exquisitely  nymphlike,  fair  and  large  eyed  and  both 
had  the  fine  light  hair  which  is  capable  of  forming  itself 
into  a  halo.  The  Duchess  stood  and  looked  at  them  for 
the  moment  spell-bound.  She  slightly  caught  her  breath. 
She  was  borne  back  so  swiftly  and  so  far.  Her  errand 
in  the  next  door  shop  was  forgotten.  She  went  into  the 
one  which  displayed  the  photographs. 

"I  wish  to  look  at  the  two  photographs  which  are  so 
much  alike,"  she  said  to  the  man  behind  the  counter. 

He  knew  her  as  most  people  did  and  brought  forth  the 
photographs  at  once. 

"Many  people  are  interested  in  them,  your  grace,"  he 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  297 

said.  "It  was  the  amazing  likeness  which  made  me  put 
them  beside  each  other/' 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "It  is  almost  incredible."  She 
looked  up  from  the  beautiful  young  being  dressed  in  the 
mode  of  twenty  years  past. 

"This  is — was — ?"  she  corrected  herself  and  paused. 
The  man  replied  in  a  somewhat  dropped  voice.  He  evi 
dently  had  his  reasons  for  feeling  it  discreet  to  do  so. 

"Yes — was.  She  died  twenty  years  ago.  The  young 
Princess  Alixe  of  X — "  he  said.  "There  was  a  sad  story, 
your  grace  no  doubt  remembers.  It  was  a  good  deal 
talked  about." 

"Yes,"  she  replied  and  said  no  more,  but  took  up  the 
modern  picture.  It  displayed  the  same  almost  floating 
airiness  of  type,  but  in  this  case  the  original  wore  dia 
phanous  wisps  of  spangled  tulle  threatening  to  take  wings 
and  fly  away  leaving  the  girl  slimness  of  arms  and 
shoulders  bereft  of  any  covering  whatsoever. 

"This  one  is — ?"  she  questioned. 

"A  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless.  A  widow  with  a  daughter 
though  she  looks  in  her  teens.  She's  older  than  the 
Princess  was,  but  she's  kept  her  beauty  as  ladies  know  how 
to  in  these  days.  It's  wonderful  to  see  them  side  by  side. 
But  it's  only  a  few  that  saw  her  Highness  as  she  was  the 
season  she  came  with  the  Prince  to  visit  at  Windsor  in 

Queen  Victoria's  day.  Did  your  grace "  he  checked 

himself  feeling  that  he  was  perhaps  somewhat  exceeding 
Bond  Street  limits. 

"Yes.  I  saw  her,"  said  the  Duchess.  "If  these  are  for 
sale  I  will  take  them  both." 

"I'm  selling  a  good  many  of  them.  People  buy  them  be 
cause  the  likeness  makes  them  a  sort  of  curiosity.  Mrs. 
Gareth-Lawless  is  a  very  modern  lady  and  she  is  quite 
amused." 


298  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

The  Duchess  took  the  two  photographs  home  with  her 
and  looked  at  them  a  great  deal  afterwards  as  she  sat  in 
her  winged  chair. 

They  were  on  her  table  when  Coombe  came  to  drink  tea 
with  her  in  the  afternoon. 

When  he  saw  them  he  stood  still  and  studied  the  two 
faces  silently  for  several  seconds. 

"Did  you  ever  before  see  a  likeness  so  wonderful?"  he 
said  at  last. 

"Never,"  she  answered.  "Or  an  unlikeness.  That  is 
the  most  wonderful  of  all — the  unlikeness.  It  is  the 
same  body  inhabited  by  two  souls  from  different  spheres." 

His  next  words  were  spoken  very  slowly. 

"I  should  have  been  sure  you  would  see  that,"  he  com 
mented. 

"I  lost  my  breath  for  a  second  when  I  saw  them  side 
by  side  in  the  shop  window — and  the  next  moment  I  lost 
it  again  because  I  saw — what  I  speak  of — the  utter 
world  wide  apartness.  It  is  in  their  eyes.  She — ,"  she 
touched  the  silver  frame  enclosing  the  young  Princess, 
"was  a  little  saint — a  little  spirit.  There  never  was  a 
young  human  thing  so  transparently  pure." 

The  rigid  modeling  of  his  face  expressed  a  thing  which, 
himself  recognizing  its  presence,  he  chose  to  turn  aside 
as  he  moved  towards  the  mantel  and  leaned  on  it.  The 
same  thing  caused  his  voice  to  sound  hoarse  and  low  as  he 
spoke  in  answer,  saying  something  she  had  not  expected 
him  to  say.  Its  unexpectedness  in  fact  produced  in  her 
an  effect  of  shock. 

"And  she  was  the  possession  of  a  brute  incarnate,  mad 
with  unbridled  lust  and  drink  and  abnormal  furies.  She 
was  a  child  saint,  and  shook  with  terror  before  him.  He 
killed  her." 

"I  believe  he  did,"  she  said  unsteadily  after  a  breath 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  299 

space  of  pause.  "Many  people  believed  so  though  great 
effort  was  made  to  silence  the  stories.  But  there  were  too 
many  stories  and  they  were  so  unspeakable  that  even  those 
in  high  places  were  made  furiously  indignant.  He  was 
not  received  here  at  Court  afterwards.  His  own  emperor 
could  not  condone  what  he  did.  Public  opinion  was  too 
strong." 

"The  stories  were  true,"  answered  the  hoarse  low  voice. 
"I  myself,  by  royal  command,  was  a  guest  at  the  Schloss 
in  the  Bavarian  Alps  when  it  was  known  that  he  struck 
her  repeatedly  with  a  dog  whip.  She  was  going  to  have 
a  child.  One  night  I  was  wandering  in  the  park  in  misery 
and  I  heard  shrieks  which  sent  me  in  mad  search.  I  do 
not  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  I  had  succeeded,  but 
I  tried  to  force  an  entrance  into  the  wing  from  which 
the  shrieks  came.  I  was  met  and  stopped  almost  by  open 
violence.  The  sounds  ceased.  She  died  a  week  later. 
But  the  most  experienced  lying  could  not  hide  some  things. 
Even  royal  menials  may  have  human  blood  in  their  veins. 
It  was  known  that  there  were  hideous  marks  on  her  little 
dead  body." 

"We  heard.     We  heard,"  whispered  the  Duchess. 

"He  killed  her.  But  she  would  have  died  of  horror  if 
he  had  not  struck  her  a  blow.  She  began  to  die  from  the 
hour  the  marriage  was  forced  upon  her.  I  saw  that  when 
she  was  with  him  at  Windsor." 

"You  were  in  attendance  on  him,"  the  Duchess  said 
after  a  little  silence.  "That  was  when  I  first  knew  you." 

"Yes."  She  had  added  the  last  sentence  gravely  and 
his  reply  was  as  grave  though  his  voice  was  still  hoarse. 
"You  were  sublime  goodness  and  wisdom.  When  a  woman 
through  the  sheer  quality  of  her  silence  saves  a  man  from 
slipping  over  the  verge  of  madness  he  does  not  forget. 
While  I  was  sane  I  dared  scarcely  utter  her  name.  If  I 


300  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

had  gone  mad  I  should  have  raved  as  madmen  do.  For 
that  reason  I  was  afraid." 

"I  knew.  Speech  was  the  greatest  danger,"  she  an 
swered  him.  "She  was  a  princess  of  a  royal  house — poor 
little  angel — and  she  had  a  husband  whose  vileness  and 
violence  all  Europe  knew.  How  dared  they  give  her  to 
him?" 

"For  reasons  of  their  own  and  because  she  was  too 
humbly  innocent  and  obedient  to  rebel." 

The  Duchess  did  not  ask  questions.  The  sublime  good 
ness  of  which  he  had  spoken  had  revealed  its  perfection 
through  the  fact  that  in  the  long  past  days  she  had  neither 
questioned  nor  commented.  She  had  given  her  strong 
souFs  secret  support  to  him  and  in  his  unbearable  hours 
he  had  known  that  when  he  came  to  her  for  refuge,  while 
she  understood  his  need  to  the  uttermost,  she  would  speak 
no  word  even  to  himself. 

But  today  though  she  asked  no  question  her  eyes  waited 
upon  him  as  it  were.  This  was  because  she  saw  that  for 
some  unknown  reason  a  heavy  veil  had  rolled  back  from 
the  past  he  had  chosen  to  keep  hidden  even  from  himself, 
as  it  were,  more  than  from  others. 

"Speech  is  always  the  most  dangerous  thing,"  he  said. 
"Only  the  silence  of  years  piled  one  upon  the  other  will 
bury  unendurable  things.  Even  thought  must  be  silenced. 
I  have  lived  a  lifetime  since — "  his  words  began  to  come 
very  slowly — as  she  listened  she  felt  as  if  he  were  opening 
a  grave  and  drawing  from  its  depths  long  buried  things, 
" — since  the  night  when  I  met  her  alone  in  a  wood  in  the 
park  of  the  Schloss  and — lost  hold  of  myself — lost  it 
utterly." 

The  Duchess*  withered  hands  caught  each  other  in  a 
clasp  which  was  almost  like  a  passionate  exclamation. 

"There  was  such  a  night.    And  I  was  young — young — 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  301 

not  an  iron  bound  vieillard  then.  When  one  is  young 
one's  anguish  is  the  Deluge  which  ends  the  world  forever. 
I  had  lain  down  and  risen  up  and  spent  every  hour  in 
growing  torture  for  months.  I  had  been  forced  to  bind 
myself  down  with  bands  of  iron.  When  I  found  myself, 
without  warning,  face  to  face  with  her,  alone  in  the  night 
stillness  of  the  wood,  the  bands  broke.  She  had  dared  to 
creep  out  in  secret  to  hide  herself  and  her  heartbroken 
terror  in  the  silence  and  darkness  alone.  I  knew  it  with 
out  being  told.  I  knew  and  I  went  quite  mad  for  the 
time.  I  was  only  a  boy.  I  threw  myself  face  downward 
on  the  earth  and  sobbed,  embracing  her  young  feet." 

Both  of  them  were  quite  silent  for  a  few  moments  before 
he  went  on. 

"She  was  not  afraid,"  he  said,  even  with  something 
which  was  like  a  curious  smile  of  tender  pity  at  the 
memory.  "Afterwards — when  I  stood  near  her,  trembling 
— she  even  took  my  hand  and  held  it.  Once  she  kissed  it 
humbly  like  a  little  child  while  her  tears  rained  down. 
Never  before  was  there  anything  as  innocently  heartbreak 
ing.  She  was  so  piteously  grateful  for  love  of  any  kind 
and  so  heart  wrung  by  my  misery." 

He  paused  again  and  looked  down  at  the  carpet,  think 
ing.  Then  he  looked  up  at  her  directly. 

"I  need  not  explain  to  you.  You  will  know.  I  was 
twenty-five.  My  heart  was  pounding  in  my  side,  my 
blood  thudded  through  my  veins.  Every  atom  of  natural 
generous  manhood  in  my  being  was  wild  with  fury  at  the 
brutal  wrong  done  her  exquisiteness.  And  she " 

"She  was  a  young  novice  fresh  from  a  convent  and  very 
pious,"  the  Duchess'  quiet  voice  put  in. 

"You  understand,"  he  answered.  "She  knelt  down  and 
prayed  for  her  own  soul  as  well  as  mine.  She  thanked 
God  that  I  was  kind  and  would  forgive  her  and  go  away — 


302  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

and  only  remember  her  in  my  prayers.  She  believed  it 
was  possible.  It  was  not,  but  I  kissed  the  hem  of  her 
white  dress  and  left  her  standing  alone — a  little  saint  in 
a  woodland  shrine.  That  was  what  I  thought  deliriously 
as  I  staggered  off.  It  was  the  next  night  that  I  heard  her 
shrieks.  Then  she  died." 

The  Duchess  knew  what  else  had  died — the  high  adven 
ture  of  youth  and  joy  of  life  in  him,  the  brilliant  spirit 
which  had  been  himself  and  whose  utter  withdrawal  from 
his  being  had  left  him  as  she  had  seen  him  on  his  return 
to  London  in  those  days  which  now  seemed  a  memory  of 
a  past  life  in  a  world  which  had  passed  also.  He  had 
appeared  before  her  late  one  afternoon  and  she  had  for 
a  moment  been  afraid  to  look  at  him  because  she  was 
struck  to  the  depths  of  her  being  by  a  sense  of  seeing  be 
fore  her  a  body  which  had  broken  the  link  holding  it  to 
life  and  walked  the  earth,  the  crowded  streets,  the  ordin 
ary  rooms  where  people  gathered,  a  dead  thing.  Even 
while  it  moved  it  gazed  out  of  dead  eyes.  And  the  years 
had  passed  and  though  they  had  been  friends  he  had 
never  spoken  until  now. 

"Such  a  thing  must  be  buried  in  a  tomb  covered  with  a 
heavy  stone  and  with  a  seal  set  upon  it.  I  am  unsealing 
a  tomb,"  he  said.  Then  after  a  silence  he  added,  "I  have, 
of  course,  a  reason/'  She  bent  her  head  because  she  had 
known  this  must  be  the  case. 

"There  is  a  thing  I  wish  you  to  understand.  Every 
woman  could  not." 

"I  shall  understand." 

"Because  I  know  you  will  I  need  not  enter  into  exact 
detail.  You  will  not  find  what  I  say  abnormal." 

There  had  been  several  pauses  during  his  relation. 
Once  or  twice  he  had  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence 
as  if  for  calmer  breath  or  to  draw  himself  back  from  a 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  303 

past  which  had  suddenly  become  again  a  present  of  tor 
ment  too  great  to  face  with  modern  steadiness.  He  took 
breath  so  to  speak  in  this  manner  again. 

"The  years  pass,  the  agony  of  being  young  passes.  One 
slowly  becomes  another  man/'  he  resumed.  "I  am  another 
man.  I  could  not  be  called  a  creature  of  sentiment.  I 
have  given  myself  interests  in  existence — many  of  them. 
But  the  sealed  tomb  is  under  one's  feet.  Not  to  allow 
oneself  to  acknowledge  its  existence  consciously  is  one's 
affair.  But — the  devil  of  chance  sometimes  chooses  to 
play  tricks.  Such  a  trick  was  played  on  me." 

He  glanced  down  at  the  two  pictures  at  which  she  her 
self  was  looking  with  grave  eyes.  It  was  the  photograph 
of  Feather  he  took  up  and  set  a  strange  questioning  gaze 
upon. 

"When  I  saw  this,"  he  said,  "this — exquisitely  smiling 
at  me  under  a  green  tree  in  a  sunny  garden — the  tomb 
opened  under  my  feet,  and  I  stood  on  the  brink  of  it — 
twenty-five  again." 

"You  cannot  possibly  put  it  into  words,"  the  Duchess 
said.  "You  need  not.  I  know."  For  he  had  become  for 
the  moment  almost  livid.  Even  to  her  who  so  well  knew 
him  it  was  a  singular  thing  to  see  him  hastily  set  down  the 
picture  and  touch  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief. 

She  knew  he  was  about  to  tell  her  his  reason  for  this 
unsealing  of  the  tomb.  When  he  sat  down  at  her  table 
he  did  so.  He  did  not  use  many  phrases,  but  in  making 
clear  his  reasons  he  also  made  clear  to  her  certain  facts 
which  most  persons  would  have  ironically  disbelieved. 
But  no  shadow  of  a  doubt  passed  through  her  mind  because 
she  had  through  a  long  life  dwelt  interestedly  on  the  many 
variations  in  human  type.  She  was  extraordinarily  inter 
ested  when  he  ended  with  the  story  of  Robin. 

"I  do  not  know  exactly  why  'it  matters  to  me' — I  am 


304  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

quoting  her  mother/'  he  explained,  "but  it  happens  that 
I  am  determined  to  stand  between  the  child  and  what 
would  otherwise  be  the  inevitable.  It  is  not  that  she  has 
the  slightest  resemblance  to — to  anyone — which  might 
awaken  memory.  It  is  not  that.  She  and  her  mother  are 
of  totally  different  types.  And  her  detestation  of  me  is 
unconquerable.  She  believes  me  to  be  the  worst  of  men. 
When  I  entered  the  room  into  which  the  woman  had 
trapped  her,  she  thought  that  I  came  as  one  of  the 
creature's  damnable  clients.  You  will  acknowledge  that 
my  position  presents  difficulties  in  the  way  of  explanation 
to  a  girl — to  most  adults  in  fact.  Her  childish  frenzy  of 
desire  to  support  herself  arises  from  her  loathing  of  the 
position  of  accepting  support  from  me.  I  sympathize 
with  her  entirely." 

"Mademoiselle  Valle  is  an  intelligent  woman,"  the 
Duchess  said  as  though  thinking  the  matter  out.  "Send 
her  to  me  and  we  will  talk  the  matter  over.  Then  she 
can  bring  the  child." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A 5  A  result  of  this,  her  grace  saw  Mademoiselle  Valle 
alone  a  few  mornings  later  and  talked  to  her  long 
and  quietly.  Their  comprehension  of  each  other 
was  complete.  Before  their  interview  was  at  an  end  the 
Duchess*  interest  in  the  adventure  she  was  about  to  enter 
into  had  become  profound. 

"The  sooner  she  is  surrounded  by  a  new  atmosphere, 
the  better,"  was  one  of  the  things  the  Frenchwoman  had 
said.  "The  prospect  of  an  arrangement  so  perfect  and  so 
secure  fills  me  with  the  profoundest  gratitude.  It  is  ab 
solutely  necessary  that  I  return  to  my  parents  in  Belgium. 
They  are  old  and  failing  in  health  and  need  me  greatly. 
I  have  been  sad  and  anxious  for  months  because  I  felt 
that  it  would  be  wickedness  to  desert  this  poor  child.  I 
have  been  torn  in  two.  Now  I  can  be  at  peace — thank  the 
good  God." 

"Bring  her  to  me  tomorrow  if  possible,"  the  Duchess 
said  when  they  parted.  "I  foresee  that  I  may  have  some 
thing  to  overcome  in  the  fact  that  I  am  Lord  Coombe's 
old  friend,  but  I  hope  to  be  able  to  overcome  it." 

"She  is  a  baby — she  is  of  great  beauty — she  has  a  pas 
sionate  little  soul  of  which  she  knows  nothing."  Made 
moiselle  Valle  said  it  with  an  anxious  reflectiveness.  "I 

have  been  afraid.  If  I  were  her  mother "  her  eyes 

sought  those  of  the  older  woman. 

"But  she  has  no  mother,"  her  grace  answered.  Her  own 
eyes  were  serious.  She  knew  something  of  girls,  of  young 
things,  of  the  rush  and  tumult  of  young  life  in  them  and 

305 


306  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

of  the  outlet  it  demanded.  A  baby  who  was  of  great 
beauty  and  of  a  passionate  soul  was  no  trivial  undertaking 
for  a  rheumatic  old  duchess,  but — "Bring  her  to  me/*  she 
said. 


So  was  Eobin  brought  to  the  tall  Early  Victorian  man 
sion  in  the  belatedly  stately  square.  And  the  chief 
thought  in  her  mind  was  that  though  mere  good  manners 
demanded  under  the  circumstances  that  she  should  come 
to  see  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Darte  and  be  seen  by  her, 
if  she  found  that  she  was  like  Lord  Coombe,  she  would 
not  be  able  to  endure  the  prospect  of  a  future  spent  in  her 
service  howsoever  desirable  such  service  might  outwardly 
appear.  This  desirableness  Mademoiselle  Valle  had  made 
clear  to  her.  She  was  to  be  the  companion  of  a  personage 
of  great  and  mature  charm  and  grace  who  desired  not 
mere  attendance,  but  something  more,  which  something 
included  the  warmth  and  fresh  brightness  of  happy  youth 
and  bloom.  She  would  do  for  her  employer  the  things 
a  young  relative  might  do.  She  would  have  a  suite  of 
rooms  of  her  own  and  a  freedom  as  to  hours  and  actions 
which  greater  experience  on  her  part  would  have  taught 
was  not  the  customary  portion  meted  out  to  a  paid 
companion.  But  she  knew  nothing  of  paid  service  and 
a  preliminary  talk  of  Coombe's  with  Mademoiselle  Valle 
had  warned  her  against  allowing  any  suspicion  that  this 
"earning  a  living*'  had  been  too  obviously  ameliorated. 

"Her  life  is  unusual.  She  herself  is  unusual  in  a  most 
dignified  and  beautiful  way.  You  will,  it  might  almost 
be  said,  hold  the  position  of  a  young  lady  in  waiting,'* 
was  Mademoiselle's  gracefully  put  explanation. 

When,  after  they  had  been  ushered  into  the  room  where 
her  grace  sat  in  her  beautiful  and  mellow  corner  by  the 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  307 

fire,  Robin  advanced  towards  the  highbacked  chair,  what 
the  old  woman  was  chiefly  conscious  of  was  the  eyes  which 
seemed  all  lustrous  iris.  There  was  uncommon  appeal 
and  fear  in  them.  The  blackness  of  their  setting  of  up- 
curled  lashes  made  them  look  babyishly  wide. 

"Mademoiselle  Valle  has  told  me  of  your  wish  to  take  a 
position  as  companion,"  the  Duchess  said  after  they  were 
seated. 

"I  want  very  much,"  said  Robin,  "to  support  myself  and 
Mademoiselle  thinks  that  I  might  fill  such  a  place  if  I 
am  not  considered  too  young." 

"You  are  not  too  young — for  me.  I  want  something 
young  to  come  and  befriend  me.  Am  I  too  old  for  you?" 
Her  smile  had  been  celebrated  fifty  years  earlier  and  it 
had  not  changed.  A  smile  does  not.  She  was  not  like 
Lord  Coombe  in  any  degree  however  remote.  She  did  not 
belong  to  his  world,  Robin  thought. 

"If  I  can  do  well  enough  the  things  you  require  done," 
she  answered  blushing  her  Jacqueminot  rose  blush,  "I  shall 
be  grateful  if  you  will  let  me  try  to  do  them.  Made 
moiselle  will  tell  you  that  I  have  no  experience,  but  that  I 
am  one  who  tries  well." 

"Mademoiselle  has  answered  all  my  questions  concern 
ing  your  qualifications  so  satisfactorily  that  I  need  ask  you 
very  few." 

Such  questions  as  she  asked  were  not  of  the  order  Robin 
had  expected.  She  led  her  into  talk  and  drew  Made 
moiselle  Valle  into  the  conversation.  It  was  talk  which 
included  personal  views  of  books,  old  gardens  and  old 
houses,  people,  pictures  and  even — lightly — politics. 
Robin  found  herself  quite  incidentally,  as  it  were,  reading 
aloud  to  her  an  Italian  poem.  She  ceased  to  be  afraid  and 
was  at  ease.  She  forgot  Lord  Coombe.  The  Duchess  list 
ening  and  watching  her  warmed  to  her  task  of  delicate  in- 


308  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

yestigation  and  saw  reason  for  anticipating  agreeably  stim 
ulating  things.  She  was  not  taking  upon  herself  a  merely 
benevolent  duty  which  might  assume  weight  and  become  a 
fatigue.  In  fact  she  might  trust  Coombe  for  that.  After 
all  it  was  he  who  had  virtually  educated  the  child — little  as 
she  was  aware  of  the  singular  fact.  It  was  he  who  had 
dragged  her  forth  from  her  dog  kennel  of  a  top  floor 
nursery  and  quaintly  incongruous  as  it  seemed,  had  found 
her  a  respectable  woman  for  a  nurse  and  an  intelligent 
person  for  a  governess  and  companion  as  if  he  had  been 
a  domesticated  middle  class  widower  with  a  little  girl  to 
play  mother  to.  She  saw  in  the  situation  more  than  others 
would  have  seen  in  it,  but  she  saw  also  the  ironic  humour 
of  it.  Coombe — with  the  renowned  cut  of  his  overcoat — 
the  perfection  of  his  line  and  scarcely  to  be  divined  sug 
gestions  of  hue — Coombe ! 

She  did  not  avoid  all  mention  of  his  name  during  the 
interview,  but  she  spoke  of  him  only  casually,  and  though 
the  salary  she  offered  was  an  excellent  one,  it  was  not 
inordinate.  Robin  could  not  feel  that  she  was  not  being 
accepted  as  of  the  class  of  young  persons  who  support 
themselves  self-respectingly,  though  even  the  most  modest 
earned  income  would  have  represented  wealth  to  her 
ignorance. 

Before  they  parted  she  had  obtained  the  position  so 
pleasantly  described  by  Mademoiselle  Valle  as  being  some 
thing  like  that  of  a  young  lady  in  waiting.  "But  I  am 
really  a  companion  and  I  will  do  everything — everything 
I  can  so  that  I  shall  be  worth  keeping,"  she  thought 
seriously.  She  felt  that  she  should  want  to  be  kept.  If 
Lord  Coombe  was  a  friend  of  her  employer's  it  was  because 
the  Duchess  did  not  know  what  others  knew.  And  her 
house  was  not  his  house — and  the  hideous  thing  she  had 
secretly  loathed  would  be  at  an  end.  She  would  be  sup- 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  309 

porting  herself  as  decently  and  honestly  as  Mademoiselle 
or  Dowie  had  supported  themselves  all  their  lives. 

With  an  air  of  incidentally  recalling  a  fact,  the  Duchess 
said  after  they  had  risen  to  leave  her: 

"Mademoiselle  Valle  tells  me  you  have  an  elderly  nurse 
you  are  very  fond  of.  She  seems  to  belong  to  a  class  of 
servants  almost  extinct." 

"I  love  her/*  Eobin  faltered — because  the  sudden  re 
minder  brought  back  a  pang  to  her.  There  was  a  look  in 
her  eyes  which  faltered  also.  "She  loves  me.  I  don't 
know  how "  but  there  she  stopped. 

"Such  women  are  very  valuable  to  those  who  know  the 
meaning  of  their  type.  I  myself  am  always  in  search  of 
it.  My  dear  Miss  Brent  was  of  it,  though  of  a  different 
class." 

"But  most  people  do  not  know,"  said  Eobin.  "It  seems 
old-fashioned  to  them — and  it's  beautiful!  Dowie  is  an 
angel." 

"I  should  like  to  secure  your  Dowie  for  my  housekeeper 
and  myself," — one  of  the  greatest  powers  of  the  celebrated 
smile  was  its  power  to  convince.  "A  competent  person  is 
needed  to  take  charge  of  the  linen.  If  we  can  secure  an 
angel  we  shall  be  fortunate." 

A  day  or  so  later  she  said  to  Coombe  in  describing  the 
visit. 

"The  child's  face  is  wonderful.  If  you  could  but  have 
seen  her  eyes  when  I  said  it.  It  is  not  the  mere  beauty  of 
size  and  shape  and  colour  which  affect  one.  It  is  some 
thing  else.  She  is  a  little  flame  of  feeling." 

The  "something  else"  was  in  the  sound  of  her  voice  as 
she  answered. 

"She  will  be  in  the  same  house  with  me !  Sometimes 
perhaps  I  may  see  her  and  talk  to  her !  Oh !  how  grateful 
I  am!"  She  might  even  see  and  talk  to  her  as  often  as 


310  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

she  wished,  it  revealed  itself  and  when  she  and  Made 
moiselle  got  into  their  hansom  cab  to  drive  away,  she 
caught  at  the  Frenchwoman's  hand  and  clung  to  it,  her 
eyelashes  wet. 

"It  is  as  if  there  must  be  Goodness  which  takes  care  of 
one,"  she  said.  "I  used  to  believe  in  it  so — until  I  was 
afraid  of  all  the  world.  Dowie  means  most  of  all.  I  did 
not  know  how  I  could  bear  to  let  her  go  away.  And  since 
her  husband  and  her  daughter  died,  she  has  no  one  but 
me.  I  should  have  had  no  one  but  her  if  you  had  gone 
back  to  Belgium,  Mademoiselle.  And  now  she  will  be 
safe  in  the  same  house  with  me.  Perhaps  the  Duchess  will 
keep  her  until  she  dies.  I  hope  she  will  keep  me  until  I 
die.  I  will  be  as  good  and  faithful  as  Dowie  and  perhaps 
the  Duchess  will  live  until  I  am  quite  old — and  not  pretty 
any  more.  And  I  will  make  economies  as  you  have  made 
them,  Mademoiselle,  and  save  all  my  salary — and  I  might 
be  able  to  end  my  days  in  a  little  cottage  in  the  country." 

Mademoiselle  was  conscious  of  an  actual  physical  drag 
at  her  heartstrings.  The  pulsating  glow  of  her  young 
loveliness  had  never  been  more  moving  and  oh !  the  sub 
lime  certainty  of  her  unconsciousness  that  Life  lay  be 
tween  this  hour  and  that  day  when  she  was  "quite  old  and 
not  pretty  any  more"  and  having  made  economies  could 
die  in  a  little  cottage  in  the  country !  She  believed  in  her 
yision  as  she  had  believed  that  Donal  would  come  to  her 
in  the  garden. 

Upon  Feather  the  revelation  that  her  daughter  had  elect 
ed  to  join  the  ranks  of  girls  who  were  mysteriously  de 
termined  to  be  responsible  for  themselves  produced  a  curi 
ous  combination  of  effects.  It  was  presented  to  her  by 
Lord  Coombe  in  the  form  of  a  simple  impersonal  state 
ment  which  had  its  air  of  needing  no  explanation.  She 
heard  it  with  eyes  widening  a  little  and  a  smile  slowly 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  311 

growing.  Having  heard,  she  broke  into  a  laugh,  a  rather 
high-pitched  treble  laugh. 

"Really?"  she  said.  "She  is  really  going  to  do  it?  To 
take  a  situation !  She  wants  to  be  independent  and  live 
her  own  life !'  What  a  joke — for  a  girl  of  mine !"  She 
was  either  really  amused  or  chose  to  seem  so. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  she  asked  when  she  stopped 
laughing.  Her  eyes  had  curiosity  in  them. 

"I  like  it,"  he  answered. 

"Of  course.  I  ought  to  have  remembered  that  yon 
helped  her  to  an  Early  Victorian  duchess.  She's  one 
without  a  flaw — the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Darte.  The  most 
conscientiously  careful  mother  couldn't  object.  It's  al 
most  like  entering  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven — in  a  dull 
way."  She  began  to  laugh  again  as  if  amusing  images 
rose  suddenly  before  her.  "And  what  does  the  Duchess 
think  of  it  ?"  she  said  after  her  laughter  had  ceased  again. 
"How  does  she  reconcile  herself  to  the  idea  of  a  companion 
whose  mother  she  wouldn't  have  in  her  house?" 

"We  need  not  enter  into  that  view  of  the  case.  You 
decided  some  years  ago  that  it  did  not  matter  to  you 
whether  Early  Victorian  duchesses  included  you  in  their 
visiting  lists  or  did  not.  More  modern  ones  do  I  believe 
— quite  beautiful  and  amusing  ones." 

"But  for  that  reason  I  want  this  one  and  those  like 
her.  They  would  bore  me,  but  I  want  them.  I  want 
them  to  come  to  my  house  and  be  polite  to  me  in  their 
stuffy  way.  I  want  to  be  invited  to  their  hideous  dinner 
parties  and  see  them  sitting  round  their  tables  in  their 
awful  family  jewels  'talking  of  the  sad  deaths  of  kings/ 
That's  Shakespeare,  you  know.  I  heard  it  last  night  at 
the  theatre." 

"Why  do  you  want  it?"  Coombe  inquired. 

"When  I  ask  you  why  you  show  your  morbid  interest 


312  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

in  Robin,  you  say  you  don't  know.  I  don't  know — but 
I  do  want  it." 

She  suddenly  flushed,  she  even  showed  her  small  teeth. 
For  an  extraordinary  moment  she  looked  like  a  little  cat. 

"Eobin  will  have  it,"  she  cried,  grinding  a  delicate 
fist  into  the  palm  on  her  knee.  "She's  not  eighteen  and 
she's  a  beauty  and  she's  taken  up  by  a  perfectly  decent 
old  duchess.  She'll  have  everything!  The  Dowager  will 
marry  her  to  someone  important.  You'll  help,"  she 
turned  on  him  in  a  flame  of  temper.  "You  are  capable 
of  marrying  her  yourself !"  There  was  a  brief  but  en 
tire  silence.  It  was  broken  by  his  saying, 

"She  is  not  capable  of  marrying  me" 

There  was  brief  but  entire  silence  again  and  it  was  he 
who  again  broke  it,  his  manner  at  once  cool  and  reasonable. 

"It  is  better  not  to  exhibit  this  kind  of  feeling.  Let 
us  be  quite  frank.  There  are  few  things  you  feel  more 
strongly  than  that  you  do  not  want  your  daughter  in  the 
house.  When  she  was  a  child  you  told  me  that  you  de 
tested  the  prospect  of  having  her  on  your  hands.  She 
is  being  disposed  of  in  the  most  easily  explained  and  en 
viable  manner." 

"It's  true — it's  true,"  Feather  murmured.  She  began 
to  see  advantages  and  the  look  of  a  little  cat  died  out, 
or  at  least  modified  itself  into  that  of  a  little  cat 
upon  whom  dawned  prospects  of  cream.  No  mood  ever 
held  her  very  long.  "She  won't  come  back  to  stay,"  she 
said.  "The  Duchess  won't  let  her.  I  can  use  her  rooms 
and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  them.  There's  at  least 
some  advantage  in  figuring  as  a  sort  of  Dame  Aux 
Camelias." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  night  before  Robin  went  away  as  she  sat  alone 
in  the  dimness  of  one  light,  thinking  as  girls  nearly 
always  sit  and  think  on  the  eve  of  a  change,  because 
to  youth  any  change  seems  to  mean  the  final  closing  as 
well  as  the  opening  of  ways,  the  door  of  her  room  was 
opened  and  an  exquisite  and  nymphlike  figure  in  pale 
green  stood  exactly  where  the  rays  of  the  reading  lamp 
seemed  to  concentrate  themselves  in  an  effort  to  reveal 
most  purely  its  delicately  startling  effect.  It  was  her 
mother  in  a  dress  whose  spring-like  tint  made  her  a  sort 
of  slim  dryad.  She  looked  so  pretty  and  young  that 
Robin  caught  her  breath  as  she  rose  and  went  forward. 

"It  is  your  aged  parent  come  to  give  you  her  blessing," 
said  Feather. 

"I  was  wondering  if  I  might  come  to  your  room  in  the 
morning,"  Robin  answered. 

Feather  seated  herself  lightly.  She  was  not  intelligent 
enough  to  have  any  real  comprehension  of  the  mood  which 
had  impelled  her  to  come.  She  had  merely  given  way  to 
a  secret  sense  of  resentment  of  something  which  annoyed 
her.  She  knew,  however,  why  she  had  put  on  the  spring- 
leaf  green  dress  which  made  her  look  like  a  girl.  She 
was  not  going  to  let  Robin  feel  as  if  she  were  receiving  a 
visit  from  her  grandmother.  She  had  got  that  far. 

"We  don't  know  each  other  at  all,  do  we?"  she  said. 

"N"o,"  answered  Robin.  She  could  not  remove  her  eyes 
from  her  loveliness.  She  brought  up  such  memories  of 

313 


314  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

the  Lady  Downstairs  and  the  desolate  child  in  the  shabby 
nursery. 

"Mothers  are  not  as  intimate  with  their  daughters  as 
they  used  to  be  when  it  was  a  sort  of  virtuous  fashion  to 
superintend  their  rice  pudding  and  lecture  them  about 
their  lessons.  We  have  not  seen  each  other  often." 

"No,"  said  Robin. 

Feather's  laugh  had  again  the  rather  high  note  Coornbe 
had  noticed. 

"You  haven't  very  much  to  say,  have  you?"  she  com 
mented.  "And  you  stare  at  me  as  if  you  were  trying  to 
explain  me.  I  dare  say  you  know  that  you  have  big  eyes 
and  that  they're  a  good  colour,  but  I  may  as  well  hint  to 
you  that  men  do  not  like  to  be  stared  at  as  if  their  deeps 
were  being  searched.  Drop  your  eyelids." 

Robin's  lids  dropped  in  spite  of  herself  because  she  was 
startled,  but  immediately  she  was  startled  again  by  a  note 
in  her  mother's  voice — a  note  of  added  irritation. 

"Don't  make  a  habit  of  dropping  them  too  often,"  it 
broke  out,  "or  it  will  look  as  if  you  did  it  to  show  your 
eyelashes.  Girls  with  tricks  of  that  sort  are  always 
laughed  at.  Alison  Carr  lives  sideways  because  she  has 
a  pretty  profile." 

Coombe  would  have  recognized  the  little  cat  look,  if  he 
had  been  watching  her  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
and  scrutinized  her  daughter.  The  fact  was  that  she 
took  in  her  every  point,  being  an  astute  censor  of  other 
women's  charms. 

"Stand  up,"  she  said. 

Robin  stood  up  because  she  could  not  well  refuse  to  do 
so,  but  she  coloured  because  she  was  suddenly  ashamed. 

"You're  not  little,  but  you're  not  tall,"  her  mother  said. 
"That's  against  you.  It's  the  fashion  for  women  to  be 
immensely  tall  now.  Du  Maurier's  pictures  in  Punch 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  315 

and  his  idiotic  Trilby  did  it.  Clothes  are  made  for 
giantesses.  I  don't  care  about  it  myself,  but  a  girl's 
rather  out  of  it  if  she's  much  less  than  six  feet  high.  You 
can  sit  down." 

A  more  singular  interview  between  mother  and  daughter 
had  assuredly  rarely  taken  place.  As  she  looked  at  the 
girl  her  resentment  of  her  increased  each  moment.  She 
actually  felt  as  if  she  were  beginning  to  lose  her  temper. 

"You  are  what  pious  people  call  'going  out  into  the 
world'/'  she  went  on.  "In  moral  books  mothers  always 
give  advice  and  warnings  to  their  girls  when  they're  leav 
ing  them.  I  can  give  you  some  warnings.  You  think 
that  because  you  have  been  taken  up  by  a  dowager  duchess 
everything  will  be  plain  sailing.  You're  mistaken.  You 
think  because  you  are  eighteen  and  pretty,  men  will  fall 
at  your  feet." 

"I  would  rather  be  hideous,"  cried  suddenly  passionate 
Eobin.  "I  hate  men !" 

The  silly  pretty  thing  who  was  responsible  for  her 
being,  grew  sillier  as  her  irritation  increased. 

"That's  what  girls  always  pretend,  but  the  youngest 
little  idiot  knows  it  isn't  true.  It's  men  who  count.  It 
makes  me  laugh  when  I  think  of  them — and  of  you.  You 
know  nothing  about  them  and  they  know  everything 
about  you.  A  clever  man  can  do  anything  he  pleases  with 
a  silly  girl." 

"Are  they  all  bad?"  Eobin  exclaimed  furiously. 

"They're  none  of  them  bad.  They're  only  men.  And 
that's  my  warning.  Don't  imagine  that  when  they  make 
love  to  you  they  do  it  as  if  you  were  the  old  Duchess' 
granddaughter.  You  will  only  be  her  paid  companion  and 
that's  a  different  matter." 

"I  will  not  speak  to  one  of  them "  Eobin  actually 

began. 


316  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"You'll  be  obliged  to  do  what  the  Duchess  tells  you  to 
do,"  laughed  Feather,  as  she  realized  her  obvious  power 
to  dull  the  glitter  and  glow  of  things  which  she  had  felt 
the  girl  must  be  dazzled  and  uplifted  unduly  by.  She 
was  rather  like  a  spiteful  schoolgirl  entertaining  herself 
by  spoiling  an  envied  holiday  for  a  companion.  "Old 
men  will  run  after  you  and  you  will  have  to  be  nice  to 
them  whether  you  like  it  or  not."  A  queer  light  came 
into  her  eyes.  "Lord  Coombe  is  fond  of  girls  just  out  of 
the  schoolroom.  But  if  he  begins  to  make  love  to  you 
don't  allow  yourself  to  feel  too  much  nattered." 

Eobin  sprang  toward  her. 

"Do  you  think  I  don't  abhor  Lord  Coombe !"  she  cried 
out  forgetting  herself  in  the  desperate  cruelty  of  the  mo 
ment.  "Haven't  I  reason "  but  there  she  remembered 

and  stopped. 

But  Feather  was  not  shocked  or  alarmed.  Years  of 
looking  things  in  the  face  had  provided  her  with  a  men 
tal  surface  from  which  things  rebounded.  On  the  whole 
it  even  amused  her  and  "suited  her  book"  that  Eobin 
should  take  this  tone. 

"Oh !  I  suppose  you  mean  you  know  he  admires  me 
and  pays  bills  for  me.  Where  would  you  have  been  if  he 
hadn't  done  it?  He's  been  a  sort  of  benefactor." 

"I  know  nothing  but  that  even  when  I  was  a  little 
child  I  could  not  bear  to  touch  his  hand !"  cried  Eobin. 
Then  Feather  remembered  several  things  she  had  almost 
forgotten  and  she  was  still  more  entertained. 

"I  believe  you've  not  forgotten  through  all  these  years 
that  the  boy  you  fell  so  indecently  in  love  with  was  taken 
away  by  his  mother  because  Lord  Coombe  was  your 
mother's  admirer  and  he  was  such  a  sinner  that  even  a 
baby  was  contaminated  by  him !  Donal  Muir  is  a  young 
man  by  this  time.  I  wonder  what  his  mother  would  do 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  317 

now  if  he  turned  up  at  your  mistress*  house — that's  what 
she  is,  you  know,  your  mistress — and  began  to  make  love 
to  you."  She  laughed  outright.  "You'll  get  into  all 
sorts  of  messes,  but  that  would  be  the  nicest  one !" 

Eobin  could  only  stand  and  gaze  at  her.  Her  moment's 
fire  had  died  down.  Without  warning,  out  of  the  past  a 
wave  rose  and  overwhelmed  her  then  and  there.  It  bore 
with  it  the  wild  woe  of  the  morning  when  a  child  had 
waited  in  the  spring  sun  and  her  world  had  fallen  into 
nothingness.  It  came  back — the  broken-hearted  anguish, 
the  utter  helpless  desolation,  as  if  she  stood  in  the  midst 
of  it  again,  as  if  it  had  never  passed.  It  was  a  re-incar 
nation.  She  could  not  bear  it. 

"Do  you  hate  me — as  I  hate  Lord  Coombe?"  she  cried 
out.  "Do  you  want  unhappy  things  to  happen  to  me? 
Oh!  Mother,  why!"  She  had  never  said  "Mother"  be 
fore.  Nature  said  it  for  her  here.  The  piteous  appeal  of 
her  youth  and  lonely  young  rush  of  tears  was  almost  in 
tolerably  sweet.  Through  some  subtle  cause  it  added  to  the 
thing  in  her  which  Feather  resented  and  longed  to  trouble 
and  to  hurt. 

"You  are  a  spiteful  little  cat !"  she  sprang  up  to  exclaim, 
standing  close  and  face  to  face  with  her.  "You  think  I 
am  an  old  thing  and  that  I'm  jealous  of  you !  Because 
you're  pretty  and  a  girl  you  think  women  past  thirty  don't 
count.  You'll  find  out.  Mrs.  Muir  will  count  and  she's 
forty  if  she's  a  day.  Her  son's  such  a  beauty  that  peo 
ple  go  mad  over  him.  And  he  worships  her — and  he's  her 
slave.  I  wish  you  would  get  into  some  mess  you  couldn't 
get  out  of !  Don't  come  to  me  if  you  do." 

The  wide  beauty  of  Eobin's  gaze  and  her  tear  wet  bloom 
were  too  much.  Feather  was  quite  close  to  her.  The 
spiteful  schoolgirl  impulse  got  the  better  of  her. 

"Don't  make  eyes  at  me  like  that,"  she  cried,  and  she 


318  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

actually  gave  the  rose  cheek  nearest  her  a  sounding  little 
slap,  "There !"  she  exclaimed  hysterically  and  she  turned 
about  and  ran  out  of  the  room  crying  herself. 


Robin  had  parted  from  Mademoiselle  Valle  at  Charing 
Cross  Station  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  but  the 
night  before  they  had  sat  up  late  together  and  talked  a 
long  time.  In  effect  Mademoiselle  had  said  also,  "You 
are  going  out  into  the  world,"  but  she  had  not  approached 
the  matter  in  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless'  mood.  One  may  have 
charge  of  a  girl  and  be  her  daily  companion  for  years, 
but  there  are  certain  things  the  very  years  themselves 
make  it  increasingly  difficult  to  say  to  her.  And  after 
all  why  should  one  state  difficult  things  in  exact  phrases 
unless  one  lacks  breeding  and  is  curious.  Anxious  she 
had  been  at  times,  but  not  curious.  So  it  was  that  even  on 
this  night  of  their  parting  it  was  not  she  who  spoke. 

It  was  after  a  few  minutes  of  sitting  in  silence  and 
looking  at  the  fire  that  Robin  broke  in  upon  the  quiet 
which  had  seemed  to  hold  them  both. 

"I  must  learn  to  remember  always  that  I  am  a  sort  of 
servant.  I  must  be  very  careful.  It  will  be  easier  for 
me  to  realize  that  I  am  not  in  my  own  house  than  it 
would  be  for  other  girls.  I  have  not  allowed  Dowie  to 
dress  me  for  a  good  many  weeks.  I  have  learned  how  to 
do  everything  for  myself  quite  well/' 

"But  Dowie  will  be  in  the  house  with  you  and  the 
Duchess  is  very  kind." 

"Every  night  I  have  begun  my  prayers  by  thanking 
God  for  leaving  me  Dowie,"  the  girl  said.  "I  have  begun 
them  and  ended  them  with  the  same  words."  She  looked 
about  her  and  then  broke  out  as  if  involuntarily.  "I  shall 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  319 

be  away  from  here.  I  shall  not  wear  anything  or  eat 
anything  or  sleep  on  any  bed  I  have  not  paid  for  myself/' 

"These  rooms  are  very  pretty.  We  have  been  very 
comfortable  here/'  Mademoiselle  said.  Suddenly  she  felt 
that  if  she  waited  a  few  moments  she  would  know  defin 
itely  things  she  had  previously  only  guessed  at.  "Have 
you  no  little  regrets?" 

"No/'  answered  Eobin,  "No." 

She  stood  upon  the  hearth  with  her  hands  behind  her. 
Mademoiselle  felt  as  if  her  fingers  were  twisting  themselves 
together  and  the  Frenchwoman  was  peculiarly  moved  by 
the  fact  that  she  looked  like  a  slim  jeune  fille  of  a  creature 
saying  a  lesson.  The  lesson  opened  in  this  wise. 

"I  don't  know  when  I  first  began  to  know  that  I  was 
different  from  all  other  children,"  she  said  in  a  soft, 
hot  voice — if  a  voice  can  express  heat.  "Perhaps  a  child 
who  has  nothing — nothing — is  obliged  to  begin  to  think 
before  it  knows  what  thoughts  are.  If  they  play  and  are 
loved  and  amused  they  have  no  time  for  anything  but 
growing  and  being  happy.  You  never  saw  the  dreadful 
little  rooms  upstairs " 

"Dowie  has  told  me  of  them,"  said  Mademoiselle. 

"Another  child  might  have  forgotten  them.  I  never 
shall.  I — I  was  so  little  and  they  were  full  of  something 
awful.  It  was  loneliness.  The  first  time  Andrews  pinched 
me  was  one  day  when  the  thing  frightened  me  and  I  sud 
denly  began  to  cry  quite  loud.  I  used  to  stare  out  of  the 
window  and — I  don't  know  when  I  noticed  it  first — I  could 
see  the  children  being  taken  out  by  their  nurses.  And 
there  were  always  two  or  three  of  them  and  they  laughed 
and  talked  and  skipped.  The  nurses  used  to  laugh  and 
talk  too.  Andrews  never  did.  When  she  took  me  to  the 
gardens  the  other  nurses  sat  together  and  chattered  and 
their  children  played  games  with  other  children.  Once 


320  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

a  little  girl  began  to  talk  to  me  and  her  nurse  called  her 
away.  Andrews  was  very  angry  and  jerked  me  by  my 
arm  and  told  me  that  if  ever  I  spoke  to  a  child  again  she 
would  pinch  me." 

"Devil !"  exclaimed  the  Frenchwoman. 

"I  used  to  think  and  think,  but  I  could  never  under 
stand.  How  could  I  ?" 

"A.  baby!"  cried  Mademoiselle  Valle  and  she  got  up 
and  took  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her.  "Cliere  petite 
angel"  she  murmured.  When  she  sat  down  again  her 
cheeks  were  wet.  Eobin's  were  wet  also,  but  she  touched 
them  with  her  handkerchief  quickly  and  dried  them.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  faltered  for  a  moment  in  her  lesson. 

"Did  Dowie  ever  tell  you  anything  about  Donal?"  she 
asked  hesitatingly. 

"Something.     He  was  the  little  boy  you  played  with?" 

"Yes.  He  was  the  first  human  creature,"  she  said  it 
very  slowly  as  if  trying  to  find  the  right  words  to  express 
what  she  meant,  " — the  first  human  creature  I  had  ever 
known.  You  see  Mademoiselle,  he — he  knew  everything. 
He  had  always  been  happy,  he  belonged  to  people  and 
things.  I  belonged  to  nobody  and  nothing.  If  I  had 
been  like  him  he  would  not  have  seemed  so  wonderful  to 
me.  I  was  in  a  kind  of  delirium  of  joy.  If  a  creature 
who  had  been  deaf  dumb  and  blind  had  suddenly  awakened, 
hearing  and  seeing  on  a  summer  day  in  a  world  full  of 
birds  and  flowers  and  sun — it  might  have  seemed  to  them 
as  it  seemed  to  me." 

"You  have  remembered  it  through  all  the  years,"  said 
Mademoiselle,  "like  that?" 

"It  was  the  first  time  I  became  alive.  One  could  not 
forget  it.  We  only  played  as  children  play  but — it  was 
a  delirium  of  joy.  I  could  not  bear  to  go  to  sleep  at 
night  and  forget  it  for  a  moment.  Yes,  I  remember  it — 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  321 

like  that.  There  is  a  dream  I  have  every  now  and  then 
and  it  is  more  real  than — than  this  is — "  with  a  wave  of 
her  hand  about  her.  "I  am  always  in  a  real  garden  play 
ing  with  a  real  Donal.  And  his  eyes — his  eyes — "  she 
paused  and  thought,  "There  is  a  look  in  them  that  is  like 
— it  is  just  like — that  first  morning." 

The  change  which  passed  over  her  face  the  next  mo 
ment  might  have  been  said  to  seem  to  obliterate  all  trace 
of  the  childish  memory. 

"He  was  taken  away  by  his  mother.  That  was  the  be 
ginning  of  my  finding  out,"  she  said.  "I  heard  Andrews 
talking  to  her  sister  and  in  a  baby  way  I  gathered  that 
Lord  Coombe  had  sent  him.  I  hated  Lord  Coombe  for 
years  before  I  found  out  that  he  hadn't — and  that  there 
•was  another  reason.  After  that  it  took  time  to  puzzle 
things  out  and  piece  them  together.  But  at  last  I  found 
out  what  the  reason  had  been.  Then  I  began  to  make 
plans.  These  are  not  my  rooms,"  glancing  about  her 
again,  " — these  are  not  my  clothes,"  with  a  little  pull 
at  her  dress.  "Fm  not  '&  strong  character',  Mademoiselle, 
as  I  wanted  to  be,  but  I  haven't  one  little  regret — not 
one."  She  kneeled  down  and  put  her  arms  round  her 
old  friend's  waist,  lifting  her  face.  "Fm  like  a  leaf 
blown  about  by  the  wind.  I  don't  know  what  it  will  do 
with  me.  Where  do  leaves  go  ?  One  never  knows  really." 

She  put  her  face  down  on  Mademoiselle's  knee  then  and 
cried  with  soft  bitterness. 

"When  she  bade  her  good-bye  at  Charing  Cross  Station 
and  stood  and  watched  the  train  until  it  was  quite  out  of 
sight,  afterwards  she  went  back  to  the  rooms  for  which 
she  felt  no  regrets.  And  before  she  went  to  bed  that 
night  Feather  came  and  gave  her  farewell  maternal  ad 
vice  and  warning. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THAT  a  previously  scarcely  suspected  daughter  of 
Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  had  become  a  member  of  the 
household  of  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Darte  stirred 
but  a  passing  wave  of  interest  in  a  circle  which  was  not 
that  of  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  herself  and  which  upon  the 
whole  but  casually  acknowledged  its  curious  existence 
as  a  modern  abnormality.  Also  the  attitude  of  the 
Duchess  herself  was  composedly  free  from  any  admission 
of  necessity  for  comment. 

"I  have  no  pretty  young  relative  who  can  be  spared  to 
come  and  live  with  me.  I  am  fond  of  things  pretty  and 
young  and  I  am  greatly  pleased  with  what  a  kind  chance 
put  in  my  way/'  she  said.  In  her  discussion  of  the  situa 
tion  with  Coombe  she  measured  it  with  her  customary 
fine  acumen. 

"Forty  years  ago  it  could  not  have  been  done.  The 
girl  would  have  been  made  uncomfortable  and  outside 
things  could  not  have  been  prevented  from  dragging  them 
selves  in.  Filial  piety  in  the  mass  would  have  demanded 
that  the  mother  should  be  accounted  for.  Now  a  genial 
knowledge  of  a  variety  in  mothers  leaves  Mrs.  Gareth- 
Lawless  to  play  about  with  her  own  probably  quite  amus 
ing  set.  Once  poor  Eobin  would  have  been  held  respon 
sible  for  her  and  so  should  I.  My  position  would  have 
seemed  to  defy  serious  moral  issues.  But  we  have  reached 
a  sane  habit  of  detaching  people  from  their  relations.  A 
nice  condition  we  should  be  in  if  we  had  not." 

"You,  of  course,  know  that  Henry  died  suddenly  in 

322 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  323 

some  sort  of  fit  at  Ostend."  Coombe  said  it  as  if  in  a 
form  of  reply.  She  had  naturally  become  aware  of  it 
when  the  rest  of  the  world  did,  but  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  event. 

"One  did  not  suppose  his  constitution  would  have  lasted 
so  long/'  she  answered.  "You  are  more  fortunate  in 
young  Donal  Muir.  Have  you  seen  him  and  his  mother  ?" 

"I  made  a  special  journey  to  Braemarnie  and  had  a 
curious  interview  with  Mrs.  Muir.  When  I  say  'curious' 
I  don't  mean  to  imply  that  it  was  not  entirely  dignified. 
It  was  curious  only  because  I  realize  that  secretly  she  re 
gards  with  horror  and  dread  the  fact  that  her  boy  is  the 
prospective  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe.  She  does  not 
make  a  jest  of  it  as  I  have  had  the  temerity  to  do.  It's 
a  cheap  defense,  this  trick  of  making  an  eternal  jest  of 
things,  but  it  is  a  defense  and  one  has  formed  the  habit." 

"She  has  never  done  it — Helen  Muir,"  his  friend  said. 
"On  the  whole  I  believe  she  at  times  knows  that  she  has 
been  too  grave.  She  was  a  beautiful  creature  passionately 
in  love  with  her  husband.  When  such  a  husband  is  taken 
away  from  such  a  woman  and  his  child  is  left  it  often 
happens  that  the  flood  of  her  love  is  turned  into  one 
current  and  that  it  is  almost  overwhelming.  She  is  too 
sane  to  have  coddled  the  boy  and  made  him  effeminate — 
what  has  she  done  instead?" 

"He  is  a  splendid  young  Highlander.  He  would  be  too 
good-looking  if  he  were  not  as  strong  and  active  as  a 
young  stag.  All  she  has  done  is  to  so  fill  him  with  the 
power  and  sense  of  her  charm  that  he  has  not  seen  enough 
of  the  world  or  learned  to  care  for  it.  She  is  the  one 
woman  on  earth  for  him  and  life  with  her  at  Braemarnie 
is  all  he  asks  for." 

"Your  difficulty  will  be  that  she  will  not  be  willing  to 
trust  him  to  your  instructions." 


324:  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"I  have  not  as  much  personal  vanity  as  I  may  seem  to 
have,"  Coombe  said.  "I  put  all  egotism  modestly  aside 
when  I  talked  to  her  and  tried  to  explain  that  I  would 
endeavour  to  see  that  he  came  to  no  harm  in  my  society. 
My  heir  presumptive  and  I  must  see  something  of  each 
other  and  he  must  become  intimate  with  the  prospect  of 
his  responsibilities.  More  will  be  demanded  of  the  next 
Marquis  of  Coombe  than  has  been  demanded  of  me.  And 
it  will  be  demanded  not  merely  hoped  for  or  expected. 
And  it  will  be  the  overwhelming  forces  of  Fate  which  will 
demand  it — not  mere  tenants  or  constituents  or  the  gen 
eral  public." 

"Have  you  any  views  as  to  what  will  be  demanded?" 
was  her  interested  question. 

"None.  Neither  has  anyone  else  who  shares  my 
opinion.  No  one  will  have  any  until  the  readjustment 
comes.  But  before  the  readjustment  there  will  be  the 
pouring  forth  of  blood — the  blood  of  magnificent  lads 
like  Donal  Muir — perhaps  his  own  blood, — my  God !" 

"And  there  may  be  left  no  head  of  the  house  of  Coombe," 
from  the  Duchess. 

"There  will  be  many  a  house  left  without  its  head- 
houses  great  and  small.  And  if  the  peril  of  it  were  more 
generally  foreseen  at  this  date  it  would  be  less  perilous 
than  it  is." 

"Lads  like  that !"  said  the  old  Duchess  bitterly.  "Lads 
in  their  strength  and  joy  and  bloom !  It  is  hideous." 

"In  all  their  young  virility  and  promise  for  a  next 
generation — the  strong  young  fathers  of  forever  unborn 
millions !  It's  damnable !  And  it  will  be  so  not  only  in 
England,  but  all  over  a  blood  drenched  world." 

It  was  in  this  way  they  talked  to  each  other  of  the 
black  tragedy  for  which  they  believed  the  world's  stage 
was  already  being  set  in  secret,  and  though  there  were 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  325 

here  and  there  others  who  felt  the  ominous  inevitability 
of  the  raising  of  the  curtain,  the  rest  of  the  world  looked 
on  in  careless  indifference  to  the  significance  of  the  open 
training  of  its  actors  and  even  the  resounding  hammerings 
of  its  stage  carpenters  and  builders.  In  these  days  the 
two  discussed  the  matter  more  frequently  and  even  in  the 
tone  of  those  who  waited  for  the  approach  of  a  thing  draw 
ing  nearer  every  day.  Each  time  the  Head  of  the  House  of 
Coombe  made  one  of  his  so-called  "week  end"  visits  to  the 
parts  an  Englishman  can  reach  only  by  crossing  the  Chan 
nel,  he  returned  with  new  knowledge  of  the  special  direc 
tion  in  which  the  wind  veered  in  the  blowing  of  those 
straws  he  had  so  long  observed  with  absorbed  interest. 

"Above  all  the  common  sounds  of  daily  human  life  one 
hears  in  that  one  land  the  rattle  and  clash  of  arms  and 
the  unending  thudding  tread  of  marching  feet,"  he  said 
after  one  such  visit.  "Two  generations  of  men  creatures 
bred  and  born  and  trained  to  live  as  parts  of  a  huge  death 
dealing  machine  have  resulted  in  a  monstrous  construction. 
Each  man  is  a  part  of  it  and  each  part's  greatest  ambition 
is  to  respond  to  the  shouted  word  of  command  as  a 
mechanical  puppet  responds  to  the  touch  of  a  spring. 
To  each  unit  of  the  millions,  love  of  his  own  country 
means  only  hatred  of  all  others  and  the  belief  that  no 
other  should  be  allowed  existence.  The  sacred  creed  of 
each  is  that  the  immensity  of  Germany  is  such  that  there 
can  be  no  room  on  the  earth  for  another  than  itself. 
Blood  and  iron  will  clear  the  world  of  the  inferior  peoples. 
To  the  masses  that  is  their  God's  will.  Their  God  is  an 
understudy  of  their  Kaiser." 

"You  are  not  saying  that  as  part  of  the  trick  of  making 
a  jest  of  things  ?" 

"I  wish  to  God  I  were.  The  poor  huge  inhuman  thing 
he  has  built  does  not  know  that  when  he  was  a  boy  he  did 


326  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

not  play  at  war  and  battles  as  other  boys  do,  but  as  a 
creature  obsessed.  He  has  played  at  soldiers  with  his 
people  as  his  toys  throughout  all  his  morbid  life — and  he 
has  hungered  and  thirsted  as  he  has  done  it." 

A  Bible  lay  upon  the  table  and  the  Duchess  drew  it 
towards  her. 

"There  is  a  verse  here — "  she  said  " — I  will  find  it." 
She  turned  the  pages  and  found  it.  "Listen  !  'Know  this 
and  lay  it  to  thy  heart  this  day.  Jehovah  is  God  in  heaven 
above  and  on  the  earth  beneath.  There  is  none  else.' 
That  is  a  power  which  does  not  confine  itself  to  Germany 
or  to  England  or  France  or  to  the  Map  of  Europe.  It  is 
the  Law  of  the  Universe — and  even  Wilhelm  the  Second 
cannot  bend  it  to  his  almighty  will.  'There  is  none  else/  r' 

"  'There  is  none  else'/'  repeated  Coombe  slowly.  "If 
there  existed  a  human  being  with  the  power  to  drive  that 
home  as  a  truth  into  his  delirious  brain,  I  believe  he  would 
die  raving  mad.  To  him  there  is  no  First  Cause  which 
was  not  'made  in  Germany/  And  it  is  one  of  his  most 
valuable  theatrical  assets.  It  is  part  of  his  paraphernalia 
— like  the  jangling  of  his  sword  and  the  glitter  of  his 
orders.  He  shakes  it  before  his  people  to  arrest  the 
attention  of  the  simple  and  honest  ones  as  one  jingles  a 
rattle  before  a  child.  There  are  those  among  them  who 
are  not  so  readily  attracted  by  terms  of  blood  and  iron." 

"But  they  will  be  called  upon  to  shed  blood  and  to  pour 
forth  their  own.  There  will  be  young  things  like  Donal 
Muir — lads  with  ruddy  cheeks  and  with  white  bodies  to 
be  torn  to  fragments,"  She  shuddered  as  she  said  it.  "I 
am  afraid!"  she  said.  "I  am  afraid!" 

"So  am  I,"  Coombe  answered.  "Of  what  is  coming. 
What  a  fool  I  have  been  !" 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  other  men  awaken  to  say  the 
same  thing?" 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  327 

"Each  man's  folly  is  his  own  shame/'  He  drew  him 
self  stiffly  upright  as  a  man  might  who  stood  before  a 
firing  squad.  "I  had  a  life  to  live  or  to  throw  away.  Be 
cause  I  was  hideously  wounded  at  the  outset  I  threw  it 
aside  as  done  for.  I  said  'there  is  neither  God  nor  devil, 
vice  nor  virtue,  love  nor  hate.  I  will  do  and  leave  undone 
what  I  choose.'  I  had  power  and  brain  and  money.  A 
man  who  could  see  clearly  and  who  had  words  to  choose 
from  might  have  stood  firmly  in  the  place  to  which  he  was 
born  and  have  spoken  in  a  voice  which  might  have  been 
listened  to.  He  might  have  fought  against  folly  and 
blindness  and  lassitude.  I  deliberately  chose  privately  to 
sneer  at  the  thought  of  lifting  a  hand  to  serve  any  thing 
but  the  cold  fool  who  was  myself.  Life  passes  quickly. 
It  does  not  turn  back."  He  ended  with  a  short  harsh 
laugh.  "This  is  Fear,"  he  said.  "Fear  clears  a  man's 
mind  of  rubbish  and  non-essentials.  It  is  because  I  am 
afraid  that  I  accuse  myself.  And  it  is  not  for  myself  or 
you  but  for  the  whole  world  which  before  the  end  comes 
will  seem  to  fall  into  fragments." 

"You  have  been  seeing  ominous  signs?"  the  Duchess 
said  leaning  forward  and  speaking  low. 

"There  have  been  affectionate  visits  to  Vienna.  There 
is  a  certain  thing  in  the  air — in  the  arrogance  of  the  bear 
ing  of  men  clanking  their  sabres  as  they  stride  through 
the  streets.  There  is  an  exultant  eagerness  in  their  eyes. 
Things  are  said  which  hold  scarcely  concealed  braggart 
threats.  They  have  always  been  given  to  that  sort  of 
thing — but  now  it  strikes  one  as  a  thing  unleashed — or 
barely  leashed  at  all.  The  background  of  the  sound  of 
clashing  arms  and  the  thudding  of  marching  feet  is  more 
unendingly  present.  One  cannot  get  away  from  it.  The 
great  munition  factories  are  working  night  and  day.  In 
the  streets,  in  private  houses,  in  the  shops,  one  hears  and 


328  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

recognizes  signs.  They  are  signs  which  might  not  be  clear 
to  one  who  had  not  spent  years  in  looking  on  with  inter 
ested  eyes.  But  I  have  watched  too  long  to  see  only  the 
surface  of  things.  The  nation  is  waiting  for  something — 
waiting." 

"What  will  be  the  pretext — what,"  the  Duchess  pon 
dered. 

"Any  pretext  will  do — or  none — except  that  Germany 
must  have  what  she  wants  and  that  she  is  strong  enough 
to  take  it — after  forty  years  of  building  her  machine." 

"And  we  others  have  built  none.  We  almost  deserve 
whatever  comes  to  us."  The  old  woman's  face  was  darkly 
grave. 

"In  three  villages  where  I  chance  to  be  lord  of  the  manor 
I  have,  by  means  of  my  own,  set  lads  drilling  and  training. 
It  is  supposed  to  be  a  form  of  amusement  and  an  eccentric 
whim  of  mine  and  it  is  a  change  from  eternal  cricket.  I 
have  given  prizes  and  made  an  occasional  speech  on  the 
ground  that  English  brawn  is  so  enviable  a  possession  that 
it  ought  to  develop  itself  to  the  utmost.  When  I  once 
went  to  the  length  of  adding  that  each  Englishman  should 
be  muscle  fit  and  ready  in  case  of  England's  sudden  need, 
I  saw  the  lads  grin  cheerfully  at  the  thought  of  England 
in  any  such  un-English  plight.  Their  innocent  swagger 
ing  belief  that  the  country  is  always  ready  for  everything 
moved  my  heart  of  stone.  And  it  is  men  like  myself  who 
are  to  blame — not  merely  men  of  my  class,  but  men  of  my 
kind.  Those  who  have  chosen  to  detach  themselves  from 
everything  but  the  living  of  life  as  it  best  pleased  their 
tastes  or  served  their  personal  ambitions." 

"Are  we  going  to  be  taught  that  man  cannot  argue  with 
out  including  his  fellow  man  ?  Are  we  going  to  be  forced 
to  learn  it  ?"  she  said. 

"Yes — forced.     Nothing  but  force  could  reach  us.     The 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  329 

race  is  an  undeveloped  thing.  A  few  centuries  later  it 
will  have  evolved  another  sense.  This  century  may  see 
the  first  huge  step — because  the  power  of  a  cataclysm 
sweeps  it  forward." 

He  turned  his  glance  towards  the  opening  door.  Eobin 
came  in  with  some  letters  in  her  hand.  He  was  vaguely 
aware  that  she  wore  an  aspect  he  was  unfamiliar  with. 
The  girl  of  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless  had  in  the  past,  as  it 
went  without  saying,  expressed  the  final  note  of  priceless 
simplicity  and  mode.  The  more  finely  simple  she  looked, 
the  more  priceless.  The  unfamiliarity  in  her  outward 
seeming  lay  in  the  fact  that  her  quiet  dun  tweed  dress  with 
its  lines  of  white  at  neck  and  wrists  was  not  priceless 
though  it  was  well  made.  It,  in  fact,  unobtrusively  sug 
gested  that  it  was  meant  for  service  rather  than  for 
adornment.  Her  hair  was  dressed  closely  and  her  move 
ments  were  very  quiet.  Coombe  realized  that  her  greeting 
of  him  was  delicately  respectful. 

"I  have  finished  the  letters,"  she  said  to  the  Duchess.  "I 
hope  they  are  what  you  want.  Sometimes  I  am  afraid " 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  the  Duchess  kindly.  "You  write 
very  correct  and  graceful  little  letters.  They  are  always 
what  I  want.  Have  you  been  out  today?" 

"Not  yet."  Robin  hesitated  a  little.  "Have  I  your  per 
mission  to  ask  Mrs.  James  if  it  will  be  convenient  to  her  to 
let  Dowie  go  with  me  for  an  hour  ?" 

"Yes,"  as  kindly  as  before.  "For  two  hours  if  you  like. 
I  shall  not  drive  this  afternoon." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Eobin  and  went  out  of  the  room  as 
quietly  as  she  had  entered  it. 

When  the  door  closed  the  Duchess  wag  smiling  at  Lord 
Coombe. 

"I  understand  her,"  she  said.  "She  is  sustained  and 
comforted  by  her  pretty  air  of  servitude.  She  might  use 


330  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Dowie  as  her  personal  maid  and  do  next  to  nothing,  but 
she  waits  upon  herself  and  punctiliously  asks  my  per 
mission  to  approach  Mrs.  James  the  housekeeper  with  any 
request  for  a  favour.  Her  one  desire  is  to  be  sure  that 
she  is  earning  her  living  as  other  young  women  do  when 
they  are  paid  for  their  work.  I  should  really  like  to  pet 
and  indulge  her,  but  it  would  only  make  her  unhappy.  I 
invent  tasks  for  her  which  are  quite  unnecessary.  For 
years  the  little  shut-up  soul  has  been  yearning  and  praying 
for  this  opportunity  to  stand  honestly  on  her  own  feet  and 
she  can  scarcely  persuade  herself  that  it  has  been  given  to 
her.  It  must  not  be  spoiled  for  her.  I  send  her  on 
errands  my  maid  could  perform.  I  have  given  her  a  little 
room  with  a  serious  business  air.  It  is  full  of  files  and 
papers  and  she  sits  in  it  and  copies  things  for  me  and 
even  looks  over  accounts.  She  is  clever  at  looking  up 
references.  I  have  let  her  sit  up  quite  late  once  or  twice 
searching  for  detail  and  dates  for  my  use.  It  made  her 
bloom  with  joy." 

"You  are  quite  the  most  delightful  woman  in  the  world," 
said  Coombe.    "Quite." 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

IN  THE  serious  little  room  the  Duchess  had  given  to 
her  Eobin  built  for  herself  a  condition  she  called 
happiness.  She  drew  the  spiritual  substance  from 
which  it  was  made  from  her  pleasure  in  the  books  of 
reference  closely  fitted  into  their  shelves,  in  the  files  for 
letters  and  more  imposing  documents,  in  the  varieties  of 
letter  paper  and  envelopes  of  different  sizes  and  materials 
which  had  been  provided  for  her  use  in  case  of  necessity. 

"You  may  not  use  the  more  substantial  ones  often,  but 
you  must  be  prepared  for  any  unexpected  contingency," 
the  Duchess  had  explained,  thereby  smoothing  her  pathway 
by  the  suggestion  of  responsibilities. 

The  girl  did  not  know  the  extent  of  her  employer's 
consideration  for  her,  but  she  knew  that  she  was  kind  with 
a  special  grace  and  comprehension.  A  subtle  truth  she 
also  did  not  recognize  was  that  the  remote  flame  of  her 
own  being  was  fiercely  alert  in  its  readiness  to  leap  upward 
at  any  suspicion  that  her  duties  were  not  worth  the  pay 
ment  made  for  them  and  that  for  any  reason  which  might 
include  Lord  Coombe  she  was  occupying  a  position  which 
was  a  sinecure.  She  kept  her  serious  little  room  in  order 
herself,  dusting  and  almost  polishing  the  reference  books, 
arranging  and  re-arranging  the  files  with  such  exactness 
of  system  that  she  could — as  is  the  vaunt  of  the  model  of 
orderly  perfection — lay  her  hand  upon  any  document  "in 
the  dark."  She  was  punctuality's  self  and  held  herself  in 
readiness  at  any  moment  to  appear  at  the  Duchess'  side 

331 


332  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

as  if  a  magician  had  instantaneously  transported  her  there 
before  the  softly  melodious  private  bell  connected  with  her 
room  had  ceased  to  vibrate.  The  correctness  of  her 
deference  to  the  convenience  of  Mrs.  James  the  house 
keeper  in  her  simplest  communication  with  Dowie  quite 
touched  that  respectable  person's  heart. 

"She's  a  young  lady,"  Mrs.  James  remarked  to  Dowie. 
"And  a  credit  to  you  and  her  governess,  Mrs.  Dowson. 
Young  ladies  have  gone  almost  out  of  fashion." 

"Mademoiselle  Valle  had  spent  her  governessing  days 
among  the  highest.  My  own  places  were  always  with 
gentle-people.  Nothing  ever  came  near  her  that  could 
spoil  her  manners.  A  good  heart  she  was  born  with," 
was  the  civil  reply  of  Dowie. 

"Nothing  ever  came  near  her — ?"  Mrs.  James  politely 
checked  what  she  became  conscious  was  a  sort  of  uncon 
scious  exclamation. 

"Nothing,"  said  Dowie  going  on  with  her  sheet  hemming 
steadily. 

Eobin  wrote  letters  and  copied  various  documents  for 
the  Duchess,  she  went  shopping  with  her  and  executed 
commissions  to  order.  She  was  allowed  to  enter  into 
correspondence  with  the  village  schoolmistress  and  the 
wife  of  the  vicar  at  Darte  Norham  and  to  buy  prizes  for 
notable  decorum  and  scholarship  in  the  school,  and  baby 
linen  and  blankets  for  the  Maternity  Bag  and  other 
benevolences.  She  liked  buying  prizes  and  the  baby 
clothes  very  much  because — though  she  was  unaware  of 
the  fact — her  youth  delighted  in  youngness  and  the  ful 
filling  of  young  desires.  Even  oftener  and  more  signif 
icantly  than  ever  did  eyes  turn  towards  her — try  to  hold 
hers — look  after  her  eagerly  when  she  walked  in  the  streets 
or  drove  with  the  Duchess  in  the  high-swung  barouche. 
More  and  more  she  became  used  to  it  and  gradually  she 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  333 

ceased  to  be  afraid  of  it  and  began  to  feel  it  nearly  always 
— there  were  sometimes  exceptions — a  friendly  thing. 

She  saw  friendliness  in  it  because  when  she  caught 
sight  as  she  so  often  did  of  young  things  like  herself  pass 
ing  in  pairs,  laughing  and  talking  and  turning  to  look 
into  each  other's  eyes,  her  being  told  her  that  it  was  sweet 
and  human  and  inevitable.  They  always  turned  and 
looked  at  each  other — these  pairs — and  then  they  smiled 
or  laughed  or  flushed  a  little.  As  she  had  not  known  when 
first  she  recognized,  as  she  looked  down  into  the  street 
from  her  nursery  window,  that  the  children  nearly  always 
passed  in  twos  or  threes  and  laughed  and  skipped  and 
talked,  so  she  did  not  know  when  she  first  began  to  notice 
these  joyous  young  pairs  and  a  certain  touch  of  exultation 
in  them  and  feel  that  it  was  sweet  and  quite  a  simple 
common  natural  thing.  Her  noting  and  being  sometimes 
moved  by  it  was  as  natural  as  her  pleasure  in  the  opening 
of  spring  flowers  or  the  new  thrill  of  spring  birds — but 
she  did  not  know  that  either. 

The  brain  which  has  worked  through  many  years  in. 
unison  with  the  soul  to  which  it  was  apportioned  ha& 
evolved  a  knowledge  which  has  deep  cognizance  of  the 
universal  law.  The  brain  of  the  old  Duchess  had  so 
worked,  keeping  pace  always  with  its  guide,  never  visual 
izing  the  possibility  of  working  alone,  also  never  falling 
into  the  abyss  of  that  human  folly  whose  conviction  is 
that  all  that  one  sees  and  gives  a  special  name  to  is  all 
that  exists — or  that  the  names  accepted  by  the  world  justly 
and  clearly  describe  qualities,  yearnings,  moods,  as  they 
are.  This  had  developed  within  her  wide  perception  and 
a  wisdom  which  was  sane  and  kind  to  tenderness. 

As  she  drove  through  the  streets  with  Eobin  beside 
her  she  saw  the  following  eyes,  she  saw  the  girl's  soft 
friendly  look  at  the  young  creatures  who  passed  her  glow- 


334  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

ing  and  uplifted  by  the  joy  of  life,  and  she  was  moved  and 
even  disturbed. 

After  her  return  from  one  particular  morning's  outing 
she  sent  for  Dowie. 

"You  have  taken  care  of  Miss  Robin  since  she  was  a 
little  child?"  she  began. 

"She  was  not  quite  six  when  I  first  went  to  her,  your 
grace." 

"You  are  not  of  the  women  who  only  feed  and  bathe  a 
child  and  keep  her  well  dressed.  You  have  been  a  sort  of 
mother  to  her." 

"Fve  tried  to,  your  grace.  I've  loved  her  and  watched 
over  her  and  she's  loved  me,  I  do  believe." 

"That  is  why  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  her,  Dowie. 
If  you  were  the  woman  who  merely  comes  and  goes  in  a 
child's  life,  I  could  not.  She  is — a  very  beautiful  young 
thing,  Dowie." 

"From  her  little  head  to  her  slim  bits  of  feet,  your 
grace.  No  one  knows  better  than  I  do." 

The  Duchess'  renowned  smile  revealed  itself. 

"A  beautiful  young  thing  ought  to  see  and  know  other 
beautiful  young  things  and  make  friends  with  them. 
That  is  one  of  the  reasons  for  their  being  put  in  the 
world.  Since  she  has  been  with  me  she  has  spoken  to  no 
one  under  forty.  Has  she  never  had  young  friends  ?" 

"Never,  your  grace.  Once  two — young  baggages — were 
left  to  have  tea  with  her  and  they  talked  to  her  about 
divorce  scandals  and  corespondents.  She  never  wanted 
to  see  them  again."  Dowie's  face  set  itself  in  lines 
of  perfectly  correct  inexpressiveness  and  she  added, 
"They  set  her  asking  me  questions  I  couldn't  answer. 
And  she  broke  down  because  she  suddenly  understood 
why.  No,  your  grace,  she's  not  known  those  of  her  own 
age." 


THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  335 

"She  is — of  the  ignorance  of  a  child,"  the  Duchess 
thought  it  out  slowly. 

"She  thinks  not,  poor  lamb,  but  she  is,"  Dowie  answered. 
The  Duchess'  eyes  met  hers  and  they  looked  at  each  other 
for  a  moment.  Dowie  tried  to  retain  a  non-committal 
steadiness  and  the  Duchess  observing  the  intention  knew 
that  she  was  free  to  speak. 

"Lord  Coombe  confided  to  me  that  she  had  passed 
through  a  hideous  danger  which  had  made  a  lasting  im 
pression  on  her,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "He  told  me 
because  he  felt  it  would  explain  certain  reserves  and  fears 
in  her." 

"Sometimes  she  wakes  up  out  of  nightmares  about 
it,"  said  Dowie.  "And  she  creeps  into  my  room  shiver 
ing  and  I  take  her  into  my  bed  and  hold  her  in  my 
arms  until  she's  over  the  panic.  She  says  the  worst  of 
it  is  that  she  keeps  thinking  that  there  may  have  been 
other  girls  trapped  like  her — and  that  they  did  not  get 
away." 

The  Duchess  was  very  thoughtful.  She  saw  the  compli 
cations  in  which  such  a  horror  would  involve  a  girl's 
mind. 

"If  she  consorted  with  other  young  things  and  talked 
nonsense  with  them  and  shared  their  pleasures  she  would 
forget  it,"  she  said. 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  Dowie.    "That's  it." 

The  question  in  the  Duchess'  eyes  when  she  lifted  them 
required  an  answer  and  she  gave  it  respectfully. 

"The  thing  that  happened  was  only  the  last  touch  put 
to  what  she'd  gradually  been  finding  out  as  she  grew  from 
child  to  young  girl.  The  ones  she  would  like  to  know — 
she  said  it  in  plain  words  once  to  Mademoiselle — might 
not  want  to  know  her.  I  must  take  the  liberty  of  speak 
ing  plain,  your  grace,  or  it's  no  use  me  speaking  at  all. 


336  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

She  holds  it  deep  in  her  mind  that  she's  a  sort  of  young 
outcast." 

"I  must  convince  her  that  she  is  not — ."  It  was  the 
beginning  of  what  the  Duchess  had  meant  to  say,  but  she 
actually  found  herself  pausing,  held  for  the  moment  by 
Dowie's  quiet,  civil  eye. 

"Was  your  grace  in  your  kindness  thinking — ?"  was 
what  the  excellent  woman  said. 

"Yes.  That  I  would  invite  young  people  to  meet  her — 
help  them  to  know  each  other  and  to  make  friends."  And 
even  as  she  said  it  she  was  conscious  of  being  slightly  under 
the  influence  of  Dowie's  wise  gaze. 

"Your  grace  only  knows  those  young  people  she  would 
like  to  know."  It  was  a  mere  simple  statement. 

"People  are  not  as  censorious  as  they  once  were."  Her 
grace's  tone  was  intended  to  reply  to  the  suggestion  lying 
in  the  words  which  had  worn  the  air  of  statement  without 
comment. 

"Some  are  not,  but  some  are,"  Dowie  answered. 
"There's  two  worlds  in  London  now,  your  grace.  One  is 
your  grace's  and  one  is  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless'.  I  have 
heard  say  there  are  others  between,  but  I  only  know  those 
two." 

The  Duchess  pondered  again. 

"You  are  thinking  that  what  Miss  Robin  said  to  Made 
moiselle  Valle  might  be  true — in  mine.  And  perhaps 
you  are  not  altogether  wrong  even  if  you  are  not  altogether 
right." 

"Until  I  went  to  take  care  of  Miss  Eobin  I  had  only 
had  places  in  families  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless'  set  didn't 
touch  anywhere.  What  I'm  remembering  is  that  there 
was  a — strictness — shown  sometimes  even  when  it  seemed 
a  bit  harsh.  Among  the  servants  the  older  ones  said  that 
is  was  because  of  the  new  sets  and  their  fast  wicked  ways. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  337 

One  of  my  young  ladies  once  met  another  young  lady  about 
her  own  age — she  was  just  fifteen — at  a  charity  bazaar 
and  they  made  friends  and  liked  each  other  very  much. 
The  young  lady's  mother  was  one  there  was  a  lot  of  talk 
about  in  connection  with  a  person  of  very  high  station — 
the  highest,  your  grace — and  everyone  knew.  The  girl 
was  a  lovely  little  creature  and  beautifully  behaved.  It 
was  said  her  mother  wanted  to  push  her  into  the  world 
she  couldn't  get  into  herself.  The  acquaintance  was 
stopped,  your  grace — it  was  put  a  stop  to  at  once.  And 
my  poor  little  young  lady  quite  broke  her  heart  over  it,  and 
I  heard  it  was  much  worse  for  the  other." 

"I  will  think  this  over/'  the  Duchess  said.  "It  needs 
thinking  over.  I  wished  to  talk  to  you  because  I  have 
seen  that  she  has  fixed  little  ideas  regarding  what  she 
thinks  is  suited  to  her  position  as  a  paid  companion  and 
shr-  might  not  be  prepared.  I  wish  you  to  see  that  she  has 
a  pretty  little  frock  or  so  which  she  could  wear  if  she 
required  them." 

"She  has  two,  your  grace,"  Dowie  smiled  affectionately 
as  she  said  it.  "One  for  evening  and  one  for  special  after 
noon  wear  in  case  your  grace  needed  her  to  attend  you 
for  some  reason.  They  are  as  plain  as  she  dare  make 
them,  but  when  she  puts  one  on  she  can't  help  giving  it 
a  look." 

"Yes — she  would  give  it  all  it  needed,"  her  grace  said. 
"Thank  you,  Dowie.  You  may  go." 

With  her  sketch  of  a  respectful  curtsey  Dowie  went 
towards  the  door.  As  she  approached  it  her  step  became 
slower;  before  she  reached  it  she  had  stopped  and  there 
was  a  remarkable  look  on  her  face — a  suddenly  heroic 
look.  She  turned  and  made  several  steps  backward  and 
paused  again  which  unexpected  action  caused  the  Duchess 
to  turn  to  glance  at  her.  When  she  glanced  her  grace 


338  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

recognized  the  heroic  look  and  waited,  with  a  consciousness 
of  some  slight  new  emotion  within  herself,  for  its  explan 
ation. 

"Your  grace,"  Dowie  began,  asking  God  himself  to  give 
courage  if  she  was  doing  right  and  to  check  her  if  she  was 
making  a  mistake,  "When  your  grace  was  thinking  of  the 
parents  of  other  young  ladies  and  gentlemen — did  it  come 
to  you  to  put  it  to  yourself  whether  you'd  be  willing — " 
she  caught  her  breath,  but  ended  quite  clearly,  respectfully, 
reasonably.  "Lady  Kathryn — Lord  Halwyn — "  Lady 
Kathryn  was  the  Duchess'  young  granddaughter,  Lord 
Halwyn  was  her  extremely  good-looking  grandson  who 
was  in  the  army. 

The  Duchess  understood  what  the  heroic  look  had  meant, 
and  her  respect  for  it  was  great.  Its  intention  had  not 
been  to  suggest  inclusion  of  George  and  Kathryn  in  her 
plan,  it  had  only  with  pure  justice  put  it  to  her  to  ask 
herself  what  her  own  personal  decision  in  such  a  matter 
would  be. 

"You  do  feel  as  if  you  were  her  mother,"  she  said. 
"And  you  are  a  practical,  clear-minded  woman.  It  is  only 
if  I  myself  am  willing  to  take  such  a  step  that  I  have  a 
right  to  ask  it  of  other  people.  Lady  Lothwell  is  the 
mother  I  must  speak  to  first.  Her  children  are  mine 
though  I  am  a  mere  grandmother." 

Lady  Lothwell  was  her  daughter  9  though  she  was 
not  regarded  as  Victorian  either  of  the  Early  or  the 
Middle  periods,  Dowie  as  she  returned  to  her  own  comfort 
able  quarters  wondered  what  would  happen. 


CHAPTEE  XXX 

WHAT  did  occur  was  not  at  all  complicated.  It 
would  not  have  been  possible  for  a  woman  to  have 
spent  her  girlhood  with  the  cleverest  mother  of 
her  day  and  have  emerged  from  her  training  either 
obstinate  or  illogical.  Lady  Lothwell  listened  to  as  much 
of  the  history  of  Eobin  as  her  mother  chose  to  tell  her  and 
plainly  felt  an  amiable  interest  in  it.  She  knew  much 
more  detail  and  gossip  concerning  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless 
than  the  Duchess  herself  did.  She  had  heard  of  the  child 
who  was  kept  out  of  sight,  and  she  had  been  somewhat 
disgusted  by  a  vague  story  of  Lord  Coombe's  abnormal 
interest  in  it  and  the  ugly  hint  that  he  had  an  object  in 
view.  It  was  too  unpleasantly  morbid  to  be  true  of  a  man 
her  mother  had  known  for  years. 

"Of  course  you  were  not  thinking  of  anything  large  or 
formal  ?"  she  said  after  a  moment  of  smiling  hesitation. 

"No.  I  am  not  launching  a  girl  into  society.  I  only 
want  to  help  her  to  know  a  few  nice  young  people  who  are 
good-natured  and  well-mannered.  She  is  not  the  ordinary 
old  lady's  companion  and  if  she  were  not  so  strict  with 
herself  and  with  me,  I  confess  I  should  behave  towards  her 
very  much  as  I  should  behave  to  Kathryn  if  you  could 
spare  her  to  live  with  me.  She  is  a  heart-warming  young 
thing.  Because  I  am  known  to  have  one  of  my  eccentric 
fancies  for  her  and  because  after  all  her  father  was  well 
connected,  her  present  position  will  not  be  the  obstacle. 
She  is  not  the  first  modern  girl  who  has  chosen  to  support 
herself." 

"But  isn't  she  much  too  pretty?" 

339 


340    THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Much.     But  she  doesn't  flaunt  it." 

"But  heart-warming — and  too  pretty !  Dearest  mamma  !" 
Lady  Lothwell  laughed  again.  "She  can  do  no  harm  to 
Kathryn,  but  I  own  that  if  George  were  not  at  present 
quite  madly  in  love  with  a  dazzling  being  at  least  fifteen 
years  older  than  himself  I  should  pause  to  reflect.  Mrs. 
Stacy  will  keep  him  steady — Mrs.  Alan  Stacy,  you  know— 
the  one  with  the  magnificent  henna  hair,  and  the  eyes 
that  droop.  No  boy  of  twenty-two  can  resist  her.  They 
call  her  adorers  'The  Infant  School'." 

"A  small  dinner  and  a  small  dance — and  George  and 
Kathryn  may  be  the  beginning  of  an  interesting  experi 
ment.  It  would  be  pretty  and  kind  of  you  to  drop  in 
during  the  course  of  the  evening." 

"Are  you  hoping  to — perhaps — make  a  marriage  for 
her?"  Lady  Lothwell  asked  the  question  a  shade  dis- 
turbedly.  "You  are  so  amazing,  mamma  darling,  that 
I  know  you  will  do  it,  if  you  believe  in  it.  You  seem  to 
be  able  to  cause  the  things  you  really  want,  to  evolve  from 
the  universe." 

"She  is  the  kind  of  girl  whose  place  in  the  universe  is 
in  the  home  of  some  young  man  whose  own  place  in  the 
universe  is  in  the  heart  and  soul  and  life  of  her  kind  of 
girl.  They  ought  to  carry  out  the  will  of  God  by  falling 
passionately  in  love  with  each  other.  They  ought  to 
marry  each  other  and  have  a  large  number  of  children  as 
beautiful  and  rapturously  happy  as  themselves.  They 
would  assist  in  the  evolution  of  the  race." 

"Oh !  Mamma !  how  delightful  you  always  are !  For 
a  really  brilliant  woman  you  are  the  most  adorable 
dreamer  in  the  world." 

"Dreams  are  the  only  things  which  are  true.  The  rest 
are  nothing  but  visions." 

"Angel !"  her  daughter  laughed  a  little  adoringly  as  she 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  341 

kissed  her.  "I  will  do  whatever  you  want  me  to  do.  I 
always  did,  didn't  I?  It's  your  way  of  making  one  see 
what  you  see  when  you  are  talking  that  does  it." 

It  was  understood  before  they  parted  that  Kathryn  and 
George  would  be  present  at  the  small  dinner  and  the  small 
dance,  and  that  a  few  other  agreeable  young  persons  might 
be  trusted  to  join  them,  and  that  Lady  Lothwell  and 
perhaps  her  husband  would  drop  in. 

"It's  your  being  almost  Early  Victorian,  mamma,  which 
makes  it  easy  for  you  to  initiate  things.  You  will  initiate 
little  Miss  Lawless.  It  was  rather  neat  of  her  to  prefer  to 
drop  the  'Gareth.'  There  has  been  less  talk  in  late  years 
of  the  different  classes  'keeping  their  places' — 'upper'  and 
'lower'  classes  really  strikes  one  as  vulgar." 

"We  may  'keep  our  places',"  the  Duchess  said.  "We  may 
hold  on  to  them  as  firmly  as  we  please.  It  is  the  places 
themselves  which  are  moving,  my  dear.  It  is  not  unlike 
the  beginning  of  a  landslide." 


Robin  went  to  Dowie's  room  the  next  evening  and  stood 
a  moment  in  silence  watching  her  sewing  before  she  spoke. 
She  looked  anxious  and  even  pale. 

"Her  grace  is  going  to  give  a  party  to  some  young  people, 
Dowie,"  she  said.  "She  wishes  me  to  be  present.  I — I 
don't  know  what  to  do." 

"What  you  must  do,  my  dear,  is  to  put  on  your  best 
evening  frock  and  go  downstairs  and  enjoy  yourself  as 
the  other  young  people  will.  Her  grace  wants  you  to  see 
someone  your  own  age,"  was  Dowie's  answer. 

"But  I  am  not  like  the  others.  I  am  only  a  girl  earn 
ing  her  living  as  a  companion.  How  do  I  know " 

"Her  grace  knows,"  Dowie  said.  "And  what  she  asks 
you  to  do  it  is  your  duty  to  do — and  do  it  prettily." 


342  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Robin  lost  even  a  shade  more  colour. 

"Do  you  realize  that  I  have  never  been  to  a  party  in  my 
life — not  even  to  a  children's  party,  Dowie?  I  shall  not 
know  how  to  behave  myself." 

"You  know  how  to  talk  nicely  to  people,  and  you  know 
how  to  sit  down  and  rise  from  your  chair  and  move  about 
a  room  like  a  quiet  young  lady.  You  dance  like  a  fairy. 
You  won't  be  asked  to  do  anything  more." 

"The  Duchess,"  reflected  Robin  aloud  slowly,  "would  not 
let  me  come  downstairs  if  she  did  not  know  that  people 
would — be  kind." 

"Lady  Kathryn  and  Lord  Halwyn  are  coming.  They 
are  her  own  grandchildren,"  Dowie  said. 

"How  did  you  know  that  ?"  Robin  inquired. 

"Because  her  grace  was  kind  enough  to  say  to  me  that 
she  was  thinking  of  something  like  this.  It  was  your 
being  a  girl  among  those  so  much  older  that  brought  it  to 
her  mind — and  her  being  what  she  is." 

Robin's  colour  began  to  come  back. 

"It's  not  what  usually  happens  to  girls  in  situations," 
she  said. 

"Her  grace  herself  isn't  what  usually  happens,"  said 
Dowie.  "There  is  no  one  like  her  for  high  wisdom  and 
kindness." 

Having  herself  awakened  to  the  truth  of  this  confidence- 
inspiring  fact,  Robin  felt  herself  supported  by  it.  One 
knew  what  far-sighted  perception  and  clarity  of  exper 
ienced  vision  this  one  woman  had  gained  during  her  many 
years  of  life.  If  she  had  elected  to  do  this  thing  she  had 
seen  her  path  clear  before  her  and  was  not  offering  a  gift 
which  awkward  chance  might  spoil  or  snatch  away  from 
the  hand  held  out  to  receive  it.  A  curious  slow  warmth 
began  to  creep  about  Robin's  heart  and  in  its  mounting 
gradually  fill  her  being.  It  was  true  she  had  been  taught 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE  343 

to  dance,  to  move  about  and  speak  prettily.  She  had  been 
taught  a  great  many  things  which  seemed  to  be  very  care 
fully  instilled  into  her  mind  and  body  without  any  special 
reason.  She  had  not  been  aware  that  Lord  Coombe  and 
Mademoiselle  Valle  had  directed  and  discussed  her  train 
ing  as  if  it  had  been  that  of  a  young  royal  person  whose 
equipment  must  be  a  flawless  thing.  If  the  Dowager 
Duchess  of  Darte  had  wished  to  present  her  at  Court  some 
fair  morning  she  would  have  known  the  length  of  the 
train  she  must  wear,  where  she  must  make  her  curtseys 
and  to  whom  and  to  what  depth,  how  to  kiss  the  royal 
hand,  and  how  to  manage  her  train  when  she  retired  from 
the  presence.  When  she  had  been  taught  this  she  had 
asked  Mademoiselle  Valle  if  the  training  was  part  of  every 
girl's  education  and  Mademoiselle  had  answered, 

"It  is  best  to  know  everything — even  ceremonials  which 
ma;T  or  may  not  prove  of  use.  It  all  forms  part  of  a 
background  and  prevents  one  from  feeling  unfamiliar  with 
customs." 

When  she  had  passed  the  young  pairs  in  the  streets 
she  had  found  an  added  interest  in  them  because  of  this 
background.  She  could  imagine  them  dancing  together 
in  fairy  ball  rooms  whose  lights  and  colours  her  imagin 
ation  was  obliged  to  construct  for  her  out  of  its  own  fabric ; 
she  knew  what  the  girls  would  look  like  if  they  went  to  a 
Drawing  Room  and  she  often  wondered  if  they  would  feel 
shy  when  the  page  spread  out  their  lovely  peacock  tails 
for  them  and  left  them  to  their  own  devices.  It  was  mere 
Nature  that  she  should  have  pondered  and  pondered  and 
sometimes  unconsciously  longed  to  feel  herself  part  of  the 
flood  of  being  sweeping  past  her  as  she  stood  apart  on  the 
brink  of  the  river. 

The  warmth  about  her  heart  made  it  beat  a  little  faster. 
She  opened  the  door  of  her  wardrobe  when  she  found  her- 


344  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

self  in  her  bedroom.  The  dress  hung  modestly  in  its 
corner  shrouded  from  the  penetration  of  London  fogs  by 
clean  sheeting.  It  was  only  white  and  as  simple  as  she 
knew  how  to  order  it,  but  Mademoiselle  had  taken  her  to 
a  young  French  person  who  knew  exactly  what  she  was 
doing  in  all  cases,  and  because  the  girl  had  the  supple 
lines  of  a  wood  nymph  and  the  eyes  of  young  antelope  she 
had  evolved  that  which  expressed  her  as  a  petal  expresses 
its  rose.  Robin  locked  her  door  and  took  the  dress  down 
and  found  the  silk  stockings  and  slippers  which  belonged 
to  it.  She  put  them  all  on  standing  before  her  long 
mirror  and  having  left  no  ungiven  last  touch  she  fell  a  few 
steps  backward  and  looked  at  herself,  turning  and  balanc 
ing  herself  as  a  bird  might  have  done.  She  turned  lightly 
round  and  round. 

"Yes.     I  am — "  she  said.     "I  am — very!" 

The  next  instant  she  laughed  at  herself  outright. 

"How  silly !  How  silly  !"  she  said.  "Almost  everybody 
is — more  or  less !  I  wonder  if  I  remember  the  new  steps." 
For  she  had  been  taught  the  new  steps — the  new  walking 
and  sway  ings  and  pauses  and  sudden  swirls  and  swoops. 
And  her  new  dress  was  as  short  as  other  fashionable  girls' 
dresses  were,  but  in  her  case  revealed  a  haunting  delicacy 
of  contour  and  line. 

So  before  her  mirror  she  danced  alone  and  as  she  danced 
her  lips  parted  and  her  breast  rose  and  fell  charmingly, 
and  her  eyes  lighted  and  glowed  as  any  girl's  might  have 
done  or  as  a  joyous  girl  nymph's  might  have  lighted  as  she 
danced  by  a  pool  in  her  forest  seeing  her  loveliness 
mirrored  there. 

Something  was  awakening  as  something  had  awakened 
when  Donal  had  kissed  a  child  under  the  soot  sprinkled 
London  trees. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  whole  day  before  the  party  was  secretly  exciting 
to  Robin.  She  knew  how  much  more  important  it 
seemed  to  her  than  it  really  was.  If  she  had  been 
six  years  old  she  might  have  felt  the  same  kind  of  un 
certain  thrills  and  tremulous  wonders.  She  hid  herself 
behind  the  window  curtains  in  her  room  that  she  might 
see  the  men  putting  up  the  crimson  and  white  awning 
from  the  door  to  the  carriage  step.  The  roll  of  red  carpet 
they  took  from  their  van  had  a  magic  air.  The  ringing 
of  the  door  bell  which  meant  that  things  were  being 
delivered,  the  extra  moving  about  of  servants,  the  florists' 
men  who  went  into  the  drawing-rooms  and  brought  flowers 
and  big  tropical  plants  to  re-arrange  the  conservatory  and 
fill  corners  which  were  not  always  decorated — each  and 
every  one  of  them  quickened  the  beating  of  her  pulses.  If 
she  had  belonged  in  her  past  to  the  ordinary  cheerful 
world  of  children,  she  would  have  felt  by  this  time  no  such 
elation.  But  she  had  only  known  of  the  existence  of  such 
festivities  as  children's  parties  because  once  a  juvenile 
ball  had  been  given  in  a  house  opposite  her  mother's  and 
she  had  crouched  in  an  almost  delirious  little  heap  by  the 
nursery  window  watching  carriages  drive  up  and  deposit 
fluffy  pink  and  white  and  blue  children  upon  the  strip  of 
red  carpet,  and  had  seen  them  led  or  running  into  the 
house.  She  had  caught  sounds  of  strains  of  music  and 
had  shivered  with  rapture — but  Oh !  what  worlds  away 
from  her  the  party  had  been. 

She  found  her  way  into  the  drawing-rooms  which  were 

345 


346  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

not  usually  thrown  open.  They  were  lofty  and  stately 
and  seemed  to  her  immense.  There  were  splendid  crystal- 
dropping  chandeliers  and  side  lights  which  she  thought 
looked  as  if  they  would  hold  a  thousand  wax  candles. 
There  was  a  delightfully  embowered  corner  for  the 
musicians.  It  was  all  spacious  and  wonderful  in  its 
beautiful  completeness — its  preparedness  for  pleasure. 
She  realized  that  all  of  it  had  always  been  waiting  to  be 
used  for  the  happiness  of  people  who  knew  each  other  and 
were  young  and  ready  for  delight.  When  the  young  Loth- 
wells  had  been  children  they  had  had  dances  and  frolick 
ing  games  with  other  children  in  the  huge  rooms  and  had 
kicked  up  their  young  heels  on  the  polished  floors  at 
Christmas  parties  and  on  birthdays.  How  wonderful  it 
must  have  been.  But  they  had  not  known  it  was  won 
derful. 

As  Dowie  dressed  her  the  reflection  she  saw  in  the 
mirror  gave  back  to  her  an  intensified  Eobin  whose  curved 
lips  almost  quivered  as  they  smiled.  The  soft  silk  of  her 
hair  looked  like  the  night  and  the  small  rings  on  the  back 
of  her  very  slim  white  neck  were  things  to  ensnare  the 
eye  and  hold  it  helpless. 

"You  look  your  best,  my  dear,"  Dowie  said  as  she 
clasped  her  little  necklace.  "And  it  is  a  good  best." 
Dowie  was  feeling  tremulous  herself  though  she  could  not 
have  explained  why.  She  thought  that  perhaps  it  was 
because  she  wished  that  Mademoiselle  could  have  been 
with  her. 

Eobin  kissed  her  when  the  last  touch  had  been  given. 

"I'm  going  to  run  down  the  staircase,"  she  said.  "If  I 
let  myself  walk  slowly  I  shall  have  time  to  feel  queer  and 
shy  and  I  might  seem  to  creep  into  the  drawing-room.  I 
mustn't  creep  in.  I  must  walk  in  as  if  I  had  been  to 
parties  all  my  life." 


THE  HEAD  OP  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  347 

She  ran  down  and  as  she  did  so  she  looked  like  a  white 
bird  flying,  but  she  was  obliged  to  stop  upon  the  landing 
before  the  drawing-room  door  to  quiet  a  moment  of  ex 
cited  breathing.  Still  when  she  entered  the  room  she 
moved  as  she  should  and  held  her  head  poised  with  a 
delicately  fearless  air.  The  Duchess — who  herself  looked 
her  best  in  her  fine  old  ivory  profiled  way — gave  her  a 
pleased  smile  of  welcome  which  was  almost  affectionate. 

"What  a  perfect  little  frock!"  she  said.  "You  are  de 
lightfully  pretty  in  it." 

"Is  it  quite  right?"  said  Eobin.  "Mademoiselle  chose 
it  for  me." 

"It  is  quite  right.  'Frightfully  right/  George  would 
say.  George  will  sit  near  you  at  dinner.  He  is  my  grand 
son — Lord  Halwyn  you  know,  and  you  will  no  doubt  fre 
quently  hear  him  say  things  are  'frightfully*  something  or 
other  during  the  evening.  Kathryn  will  say  things  are 
'deevy'  or  'exquig*.  I  mention  it  because  you  may  not 
know  that  she  means  'exquisite'  and  'divine.'  Don't  let 
it  frighten  you  if  you  don't  quite  understand  their 
language.  They  are  dear  handsome  things  sweeping  along 
in  the  rush  of  their  bit  of  century.  I  don't  let  it  frighten 
me  that  their  world  seems  to  me  an  entirely  new  planet." 

Eobin  drew  a  little  nearer  her.  She  felt  something  as 
she  had  felt  years  ago  when  she  had  said  to  Dowie.  "I 
want  to  kiss  you,  Dowie."  Her  eyes  were  pools  of  child 
ish  tenderness  because  she  so  well  understood  the  infin 
itude  of  the  friendly  tact  which  drew  her  within  its  own 
circle  with  the  light  humour  of  its  "I  don't  let  them 
frighten  me!' 

"You  are  kind — kind  to  me,"  she  said.  "And  I  am 
grateful — grateful." 

The  extremely  good-looking  young  people  who  began 
Very  soon  to  drift  into  the  brilliant  big  room — singly  or 


348  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

in  pairs  of  brother  and  sister — filled  her  with  innocent 
delight.  They  were  so  well  built  and  gaily  at  ease  with 
each  other  and  their  surroundings,  so  perfectly  dressed  and 
finished.  The  filmy  narrowness  of  delicate  frocks,  the 
shortness  of  skirts  accentuated  the  youth  and  girlhood  and 
added  to  it  a  sort  of  child  fairy-likeness.  Kathryn  in 
exquisite  wisps  of  silver-embroidered  gauze  looked  fourteen 
instead  of  nearly  twenty — aided  by  a  dimple  in  her  cheek 
and  a  small  tilted  nose.  A  girl  in  scarlet  tulle  was  like 
a  child  out  of  a  nursery  ready  to  dance  about  a  Christmas 
tree.  Everyone  seemed  so  young  and  so  suggested  supple 
dancing,  perhaps  because  dancing  was  going  on  every 
where  and  all  the  world  whether  fashionable  or  unfashion 
able  was  driven  by  a  passion  for  whirling,  swooping  and 
inventing  new  postures  and  fantastic  steps.  The  young 
men  had  slim  straight  bodies  and  light  movements.  Their 
clothes  fitted  their  suppleness  to  perfection.  Robin 
thought  they  all  looked  as  if  they  had  had  a  great  deal 
of  delightful  exercise  and  plenty  of  pleasure  all  their  lives. 
They  were  of  that  stream  which  had  always  seemed  to 
be  rushing  past  her  in  bright  pursuit  of  alluring  things 
which  belonged  to  them  as  part  of  their  existence,  but 
which  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  own  youth.  Now 
the  stream  had  paused  as  if  she  had  for  the  moment  some 
connection  with  it.  The  swift  light  she  was  used  to  seeing 
illuminate  glancing  eyes  as  she  passed  people  in  the  street, 
she  saw  again  and  again  as  new  arrivals  appeared. 
Kathryn  was  quite  excited  by  her  eyes  and  eyelashes  and 
George  hovered  about.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  hover 
ing.  At  the  dinner  table  sleek  young  heads  held  them 
selves  at  an  angle  which  allowed  ^f  their  owners  seeing 
through  or  around,  or  under  floral  decorations  and  alert 
young  eyes  showed  an  eager  gleam.  After  dinner  was 
over  and  dancing  began  the  Duchess  smiled  shrewdly 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  349 

as  she  saw  the  gravitating  masculine  movement  towards 
a  certain  point.  It  was  the  point  where  Robin  stood  with 
a  small  growing  circle  about  her. 

It  was  George  who  danced  with  her  first.  He  was  tall 
and  slender  and  flexible  and  his  good  shoulders  had  a 
military  squareness  of  build.  He  had  also  a  nice  square 
face,  and  a  warmly  blue  eye  and  knew  all  the  latest  steps 
and  curves  and  unexpected  swirls.  Robin  was  an  ozier 
wand  and  there  was  no  swoop  or  dart  or  sudden  sway  and 
change  she  was  not  alert  at.  The  swing  and  lure  of  the 
music,  the  swift  movement,  the  fluttering  of  airy  draperies 
as  slim  sister  nymphs  flew  past  her,  set  her  pulses  beating 
with  sweet  young  joy.  A  brief,  uncontrollable  ripple  of 
laughter  broke  from  her  before  she  had  circled  the  room 
twice. 

"How  heavenly  it  is !"  she  exclaimed  and  lifted  her  eyes 
to  ITalwyn's.  "How  heavenly  I" 

They  were  not  safe  eyes  to  lift  in  such  a  way  to  those 
of  a  very  young  man.  They  gave  George  a  sudden  enjoy 
able  shock.  He  had  heard  of  the  girl  who  was  a  sort  of 
sublimated  companion  to  his  grandmother.  The  Duchess 
herself  had  talked  to  him  a  little  about  her  and  he  had 
come  to  the  party  intending  to  behave  very  amiably  and 
help  the  little  thing  enjoy  herself.  He  had  also  encount 
ered  before  in  houses  where  there  were  no  daughters  the 
smart  well-born,  young  companion  who  was  allowed  all 
sorts  of  privileges  because  she  knew  how  to  assume  tire 
some  little  responsibilities  and  how  to  be  entertaining 
enough  to  add  cheer  and  spice  to  the  life  of  the  elderly 
and  lonely.  Sometimes  she  was  a  subtly  appealing  sort  of 
girl  and  given  to  being  sympathetic  and  to  liking  sympathy 
and  quiet  corners  in  conservatories  or  libraries,  and  some 
times  she  was  capable  of  scientific  flirtation  and  required 
scientific  management.  A  man  had  to  have  his  wits  about 


350  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

him.  This  one  as  she  flew  like  a  blown  leaf  across  the 
floor  and  laughed  up  into  his  face  with  wide  eyes,  produced 
a  new  effect  and  was  a  new  kind. 

"It's  you  who  are  heavenly,"  he  answered  with  a  boy's 
laugh.  "You  are  like  a  feather — and  a  willow  wand." 

"You  are  light  too/'  she  laughed  back,  "and  you  are  like 
steel  as  well." 

Mrs.  Alan  Stacy,  the  lady  with  the  magnificent  henna 
hair,  had  recently  given  less  time  to  him,  being  engaged 
in  the  preliminary  instruction  of  a  new  member  of  the 
Infant  Class.  Such  things  will,  of  course,  happen  and 
though  George  had  quite  ingenuously  raged  in  secret,  the 
circumstances  left  him  free  to  "hover"  and  hovering  was 
a  pastime  he  enjoyed. 

"Let  us  go  on  like  this  forever  and  ever,"  he  said 
sweeping  half  the  length  of  the  room  with  her  and  whirling 
her  as  if  she  were  indeed  a  leaf  in  the  wind,  "Forever  and 
ever." 

"I  wish  we  could.  But  the  music  will  stop,"  she  gave 
back. 

"Music  ought  never  to  stop — never,"  he  answered. 

But  the  music  did  stop  and  when  it  began  again  almost 
immediately  another  tall,  flexible  young  man  made  a 
lightning  claim  on  her  and  carried  her  away  only  to  hand 
her  to  another  and  he  in  his  turn  to  another.  She  was 
not  allowed  more  than  a  moment's  rest  and  borne  on  the 
crest  of  the  wave  of  young  delight,  she  did  not  need  more. 
Young  eyes  were  always  laughing  into  hers  and  elating 
her  by  a  special  look  of  pleasure  in  everything  she  did  or 
said  or  inspired  in  themselves.  How  was  she  informed 
without  phrases  that  for  this  exciting  evening  she  was  a 
creature  without  a  flaw,  that  the  loveliness  of  her  eyes 
startled  those  who  looked  into  them,  that  it  was  a  thrilling 
experience  to  dance  with  her,  that  somehow  she  was  new 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  351 

and  apart  and  wonderful?  No  sleek-haired,  slim  and 
straight-backed  youth  said  exactly  any  of  these  things  to 
her,  but  somehow  they  were  conveyed  and  filled  her  with 
a  wondering  realization  of  the  fact  that  if  they  were  true, 
they  were  no  longer  dreadful  and  maddening,  since  they 
only  made  people  like  and  want  to  dance  with  one.  To 
dance,  to  like  people  and  be  liked  seemed  so  heavenly 
natural  and  right — to  be  only  like  air  and  sky  and  free, 
happy  breathing.  There  was,  it  was  true,  a  blissful  little 
uplifted  look  about  her  which  she  herself  was  not  aware  of, 
but  which  was  singularly  stimulating  to  the  masculine 
beholder.  It  only  meant  indeed  that  as  she  whirled  and 
swayed  and  swooped  laughing  she  was  saying  to  herself 
at  intervals, 

"This  is  what  other  girls  feel  like.  They  are  happy 
like  this.  I  am  laughing  and  talking  to  people  just  as 
other  girls  do.  I  am  Kobin  Gareth-Lawless,  but  I  am 
enjoying  a  party  like  this — a  young  party." 

Lady  Lothwell  sitting  near  her  mother  watched  the 
trend  of  affairs  with  an  occasional  queer  interested  smile. 

"Well,  mamma  darling,"  she  said  at  last  as  youth  and 
beauty  whirled  by  in  a  maelstrom  of  modern  Terpsichorean 
liveliness,  "she  is  a  great  success.  I  don't  know  whether 
it  is  quite  what  you  intended  or  not." 

The  Duchess  did  not  explain  what  she  had  intended. 
She  was  watching  the  trend  also  and  thinking  a  good 
deal.  On  the  whole  Lady  Lothwell  had  scarcely  expected 
that  she  would  explain.  She  rarely  did.  She  seldom 
made  mistakes,  however. 

Kathryn  in  her  scant  gauzy  strips  of  white  and  silver 
having  drifted  towards  them  at  the  moment  stood  looking 
on  with  a  funny  little  disturbed  expression  on  her  small, 
tip-tilted  face. 

"There's  something  about  her,  grandmamma,"  she  said. 


352  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"All  the  girls  see  it  and  no  one  knows  what  it  is.  She's 
sitting  out  for  a  few  minutes  and  just  look  at  George — 
and  Hal  Brunton — and  Captain  Willys.  They  are  all 
laughing,  of  course,  and  pretending  to  joke,  but  they  would 
like  to  eat  each  other  up.  Perhaps  it's  her  eyelashes. 
She  looks  out  from  under  them  as  if  they  were  a  curtain." 

Lady  Lothwell's  queer  little  smile  became  a  queer  little 
laugh. 

"Yes.  It  gives  her  a  look  of  being  ecstatically  happy 
•and  yet  almost  shy  and  appealing  at  the  same  time.  Men 
can't  stand  it  of  course/' 

"None  of  them  are  trying  to  stand  it,"  answered  little 
Lady  Kathryn  somewhat  in  the  tone  of  a  retort. 

"I  don't  believe  she  knows  she  does  it,"  Lady  Lothwell 
said  quite  reflectively. 

"She  does  not  know  at  all.  That  is  the  worst  of  it," 
commented  the  Duchess. 

"Then  you  see  that  there  is  a  worst,"  said  her  daughter. 

The  Duchess  glanced  towards  Kathryn,  but  fortunately 
the  puzzled  fret  of  the  girl's  forehead  was  even  at  the 
moment  melting  into  a  smile  as  a  young  man  of  much 
attraction  descended  upon  her  with  smiles  of  his  own  and 
carried  her  into  the  Tango  or  Fox  Trot  or  Antelope  Galop, 
whichsoever  it  chanced  to  be. 

"If  she  were  really  aware  of  it  that  would  be  'the  worst* 
for  other  people — for  us  probably.  She  could  look  out 
from  under  her  lashes  to  sufficient  purpose  to  call  what  she 
wanted  and  take  and  keep  it.  As  she  is  not  aware,  it 
will  make  things  less  easy  for  herself — under  the  circum 
stances." 

"The  circumstance  of  being  Mrs.  Gareth-Lawless' 
daughter  is  not  an  agreeable  one,"  said  Lady  Lothwell. 
"It  might  give  some  adventurous  boys  ideas  when  they 
had  time  to  realize  all  it  means.  Do  you  know  I  am  rather 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  353 

sorry  for  her  myself.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  she  were 
rather  a  dear  little  thing.  She  looks  tender  and  cuddle- 
some.  Perhaps  she  is  like  the  heroine  of  a  sentimental 
novel  I  read  the  other  day.  Her  chief  slave  said  of  her 
'She  walks  into  a  man's  heart  through  his  eyes  and  sits 
down  there  and  makes  a  warm  place  which  will  never  get 
cold  again/  Rather  nice,  I  thought." 

The  Duchess  thought  it  rather  nice  also. 

"  'Never  get  cold  again/ "  she  repeated.  "What  a 

heavenly  thing  to  happen  to  a  pair  of  creatures — if " 

she  paused  and  regarded  Robin,  who  at  the  other  side  of 
the  room  was  trying  to  decide  some  parlous  question  of 
dances  to  which  there  was  more  than  one  claimant.  She 
was  sweetly  puckering  her  brow  over  her  card  and  round 
her  were  youthful  male  faces  looking  eager  and  even  a 
trifle  tense  with  repressed  anxiety  for  the  victory  of  the 
moment. 

"Oh !"  Lady  Lothwell  laughed.  "As  Kitty  says  'There's 
something  about  her*  and  it's  not  mere  eyelashes.  You 
have  let  loose  a  germ  among  us,  mamma  my  sweet,  and 
you  can't  do  anything  with  a  germ  when  you  have  let  it 
loose.  To  quote  Kitty  again,  'Look  at  George !' " 


The  music  which  came  from  the  bower  behind  which 
the  musicians  were  hidden  seemed  to  gain  thrill  and  wild- 
ness  as  the  hours  went  on.  As  the  rooms  grew  warmer  the 
flowers  breathed  out  more  reaching  scent.  Now  and  again 
Robin  paused  for  a  moment  to  listen  to  strange  delightful 
chords  and  to  inhale  passing  waves  of  something  like 
mignonette  and  lilies,  and  apple  blossoms  in  the  sun.  She 
thought  there  must  be  some  flower  which  was  like  all  three 
in  one.  The  rushing  stream  was  carrying  her  with  it  as 


354  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

it  went — one  of  the  happy  petals  on  its  surface.  Could 
it  ever  cast  her  aside  and  leave  her  on  the  shore  again? 
While  the  violins  went  singing  on  and  the  thousand  wax 
candles  shone  on  the  faint  or  vivid  colours  which  mingled 
into  a  sort  of  lovely  haze,  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  a 
thing  so  enchanting  and  so  real  could  have  an  end  at  all. 
All  the  other  things  in  her  life  seemed  less  real  tonight. 

In  the  conservatory  there  was  a  marble  fountain  which 
had  long  years  ago  been  brought  from  a  palace  garden  in 
Rome.  It  was  not  as  large  as  it  was  beautiful  and  it  had 
been  placed  among  palms  and  tropic  ferns  whose  leaves  and 
fronds  it  splashed  merrily  among  and  kept  deliciously 
cool  and  wet-looking.  There  was  a  quite  intoxicating  hot 
house  perfume  of  warm  damp  moss  and  massed  flowers 
and  it  was  the  kind  of  corner  any  young  man  would  feel 
it  necessary  to  gravitate  towards  with  a  partner. 

George  led  Eobin  to  it  and  she  naturally  sat  upon  the 
edge  of  the  marble  basin  and  as  naturally  drew  off  a  glove 
and  dipped  her  hand  into  the  water,  splashing  it  a  little 
because  it  felt  deliciously  cool.  George  stood  near  at  first 
and  looked  down  at  her  bent  head.  It  was  impossible  not 
also  to  take  in  her  small  fine  ear  and  the  warm  velvet  white 
of  the  lovely  little  nape  of  her  slim  neck.  He  took  them 
in  with  elated  appreciation.  He  was  not  subtle  minded 
enough  to  be  aware  that  her  reply  to  a  casual  remark  he 
had  made  to  her  at  dinner  had  had  a  remote  effect  upon 
him. 

"One  of  the  loveliest  creatures  I  ever  saw  was  a  Mrs. 
Gareth-Lawless,"  he  had  said.  "Are  you  related  to  her?" 

"I  am  her  daughter,"  Eobin  had  answered  and  with  a 
slightly  startled  sensation  he  had  managed  to  slip  into 
amiably  deft  generalities  while  he  had  secretly  wondered 
how  much  his  grandmother  knew  or  did  not  know. 

An  involuntary  thought  of  Feather  had  crossed  his  mind 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  355 

once  or  twice  during  the  evening.  This  was  the  girl  who, 
it  was  said,  had  actually  been  saved  up  for  old  Coombe. 
Ugly  morbid  sort  of  idea  if  it  was  true.  How  had  the 
Duchess  got  hold  of  her  and  why  and  what  was  Coombe 
really  up  to  ?  Could  he  have  some  elderly  idea  of  wanting 
a  youngster  for  a  wife?  Occasionally  an  old  chap  did. 
Serve  him  right  if  some  young  chap  took  the  wind  out  of 
his  sails.  He  was  not  a  desperate  character,  but  he  had 
been  very  intimate  with  Mrs.  Alan  Stacy  and  her  friends 
and  it  had  made  him  careless.  Also  Robin  had  drawn 
him — drawn  him  more  than  he  knew. 

"Is  it  still  heavenly?"  he  asked.  (How  pointed  her 
fingers  were  and  how  soft  and  crushable  her  hand  looked 
as  it  splashed  like  a  child's.) 

"More  heavenly  every  minute,"  she  answered.  He 
laughed  outright. 

"The  heavenly  thing  is  the  way  you  are  enjoying  it 
yourself.  I  never  saw  a  girl  light  up  a  whole  room  before. 
You  throw  out  stars  as  you  dance." 

"That's  like  a  skyrocket,"  Robin  laughed  back.  "And 
it's  because  in  all  my  life  I  never  went  to  a  dance  before." 

"Never!    You  mean  except  to  children's  parties?" 

"There  were  no  children's  parties.  This  is  the  first — 
first — first." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  how  that  happened,  but  I  am  glad  it 
did  because  it's  been  a  great  thing  for  me  to  see  you  at 
your  first — first — first." 

He  sat  down  on  the  fountain's  edge  near  her. 

"I  shall  not  forget  it,"  he  said. 

"I  shall  remember  it  as  long  as  I  live,"  said  Robin  and 
she  lifted  her  unsafe  eyes  again  and  smiled  into  his  which 
made  them  still  more  unsafe. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was  extremely  young,  perhaps 
it  was  because  he  was  immoral,  perhaps  because  he  had 


356  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

never  held  a  tight  rein  on  his  fleeting  emotions,  even  the 
next  moment  he  felt  that  it  was  because  he  was  an  idiot — 
but  suddenly  he  found  he  had  let  himself  go  and  was 
kissing  the  warm  velvet  of  the  slim  little  nape — had  kissed 
it  twice. 

He  had  not  given  himself  time  to  think  what  would 
happen  as  a  result,  but  what  did  happen  was  humiliating 
and  ridiculous.  One  furious  splash  of  the  curled  hand 
flung  water  into  his  face  and  eyes  and  mouth  while  Robin 
tore  herself  free  from  him  and  stood  blazing  with  fury 
and  woe — for  it  was  not  only  fury  he  saw. 

"You — You — !"  she  cried  and  actually  would  have 
swooped  to  the  fountain  again  if  he  had  not  caught  her 
arm. 

He  was  furious  himself — at  himself  and  at  her. 

"You— little  fool  I"  he  gasped.  "What  did  you  do  that 
for  even  if  I  was  a  jackass?  There  was  nothing  in  it. 
You're  so  pretty " 

"You've  spoiled  everything!"  she  flamed,  "everything — 
everything !" 

"I've  spoiled  nothing.  I've  only  been  a  fool — and  it's 
your  own  fault  for  being  so  pretty." 

"You've  spoiled  everything  in  the  world !  I^ow — "  with 
a  desolate  horrible  little  sob,  "now  I  can  only  go  back — 
lack!" 

He  had  a  queer  idea  that  she  spoke  as  if  she  were 
Cinderella  and  he  had  made  the  clock  strike  twelve.  Her 
voice  had  such  absolute  grief  in  it  that  he  involuntarily 
drew  near  her. 

"I  say,"  he  was  really  breathless,  "don't  speak  like  that. 
I  beg  pardon.  I'll  grovel !  Don't — Oh !  Kathryn — come 
here." 

This  last  because  at  this  difficult  moment  from  between 
the  banks  of  hot-house  bloom  and  round  the  big  palms  his 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  357 

sister  Kathryn  suddenly  appeared.  She  immediately 
stopped  short  and  stared  at  them  both — looking  from  one 
to  the  other. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh!  come  and  talk  to  her/'  George  broke  forth.  "I 
feel  as  if  she  might  scream  in  a  minute  and  call  every 
body  in.  I've  been  a  lunatic  and  she  has  apparently  never 
been  kissed  before.  Tell  her — tell  her  you've  been  kissed 
yourself." 

A  queer  little  look  revealed  itself  in  Kathryn's  face.  A 
delicate  vein  of  her  grandmother's  wisdom  made  part  of 
her  outlook  upon  a  rapidly  moving  and  exciting  world. 
She  had  never  been  hide-bound  or  dull  and  for  a  slight 
gauzy  white  and  silver  thing  she  was  astute. 

"Don't  be  impudent/'  she  said  to  George  as  she  walked 
up  to  Eobin  and  put  a  cool  hand  on  her  arm.  "He's  only 
been  silly.  You'd  better  let  him  off,"  she  said.  She 
turned  a  glance  on  George  who  was  wiping  his  sleeve  with 
a  handkerchief  and  she  broke  into  a  small  laugh,  "Did  she 
push  you  into  the  fountain?"  she  asked  cheerfully. 

"She  threw  the  fountain  at  me,"  grumbled  George.  "I 
shall  have  to  dash  off  home  and  change." 

"I  would,"  replied  Kathryn  still  cheerful.  "Yon  can 
apologize  better  when  you're  dry." 

He  slid  through  the  palms  like  a  snake  and  the  two  girls 
stood  and  gazed  at  each  other.  Robin's  flame  had  died 
down  and  her  face  had  settled  itself  into  a  sort  of  hard 
ness.  Kathryn  did  not  know  that  she  herself  looked  at 
her  as  the  Duchess  might  have  looked  at  another  girl  in 
the  quite  different  days  of  her  youth. 

"I'll  tell  you  something  now  he's  gone,"  she  said.  "I 
have  been  kissed  myself  and  so  have  other  girls  I  know. 
Boys  like  George  don't  really  matter,  though  of  course 
it's  bad  manners.  But  who  has  got  good  manners? 


358  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

Things  rush  so  that  there's  scarcely  time  for  manners  at 
all.  When  an  older  man  makes  a  snatch  at  you  it's  some 
times  detestable.  But  to  push  him  into  the  fountain  was 
a  good  idea/'  and  she  laughed  again. 

"I  didn't  push  him  in." 

"I  wish  you  had,"  with  a  gleeful  mischief.  The  next 
moment,  however,  the  hint  of  a  worried  frown  showed 
itself  on  her  forehead.  "You  see/'  she  said  protestingly, 
"you  are  so  frightfully  pretty." 

"I'd  rather  be  a  leper/'  Robin  shot  forth. 

But  Kathryn  did  not  of  course  understand. 

"What  nonsense !"  she  answered.  "What  utter  rubbish ! 
You  know  you  wouldn't.  Come  back  to  the  ball  room.  I 
came  here  because  my  mother  was  asking  for  George." 

She  turned  to  lead  the  way  through  the  banked  flowers 
and  as  she  did  so  added  something. 

ecBj  the  way,  somebody  important  has  been  assassinated 
in  one  of  the  Balkan  countries.  They  are  always  assas 
sinating  people.  They  like  it.  Lord  Coombe  has  just 
come  in  and  is  talking  it  over  with  grandmamma.  I  can 
see  they  are  quite  excited  in  their  quiet  way." 

As  they  neared  the  entrance  to  the  ball  room  she  paused 
a  moment  with  a  new  kind  of  impish  smile. 

"Every  girl  in  the  room  is  absolutely  shaky  with  thrills 
at  this  particular  moment/'  she  said.  "And  every  man 
feels  himself  bristling  a  little.  The  very  best  looking  boy 
in  all  England  is  dancing  with  Sara  Studleigh.  He 
dropped  in  by  chance  to  call  and  the  Duchess  made  him 
stay.  He  is  a  kind  of  miracle  of  good  looks  and  tak- 
ingness." 

Eobin  said  nothing.  She  had  plainly  not  been  inter 
ested  in  the  Balkan  tragedy  and  she  as  obviously  did  not 
care  for  the  miracle. 

"You  don't  ask  who  he  is?"  said  Kathryn. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE    359 

"I  don't  want  to  know." 

"Oh !  Come !  You  mustn't  feel  as  sulky  as  that. 
You'll  want  to  ask  questions  the  moment  you  see  him.  I 
did.  Everyone  does.  His  name  is  Donal  Muir.  He's 
Lord  Coombe's  heir.  He'll  be  the  Head  of  the  House  of 
Coombe  some  day.  Here  he  comes,"  quite  excitedly, 
"Look !" 

It  was  one  of  the  tricks  of  Chance — or  Fate — or  what 
ever  you  will.  The  dance  brought  him  within  a  few  feet 
of  them  at  that  very  moment  and  the  slow  walking  steps 
he  was  taking  held  him — they  were  some  of  the  queer 
stealthy  almost  stationary  steps  of  the  Argentine  Tango. 
He  was  finely  and  smoothly  fitted  as  the  other  youngsters 
were,  his  blond  glossed  head  was  set  high  on  a  heroic 
column  of  neck,  he  was  broad  of  shoulder,  but  not  too 
broad,  slim  of  waist,  but  not  too  slim,  long  and  strong  of 
leg,  but  light  and  supple  and  firm.  He  had  a  fair  open 
brow  and  a  curved  mouth  laughing  to  show  white  teeth. 
Eobin  felt  he  ought  to  wear  a  kilt  and  plaid  and  that  an 
eagle's  feather  ought  to  be  standing  up  from  a  chieftain's 
bonnet  on  the  fair  hair  which  would  have  waved  if  it  had 
been  allowed  length  enough.  He  was  scarcely  two  yards 
from  her  now  and  suddenly — almost  as  if  he  had  been 
called — he  turned  his  eyes  away  from  Sara  Studleigh 
who  was  the  little  thing  in  Christmas  tree  scarlet.  They 
were  blue  like  the  clear  water  in  a  tarn  when  the  sun 
shines  on  it  and  they  were  still  laughing  as  his  mouth  was. 
Straight  into  hers  they  laughed — straight  into  hers. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THROUGH  all  aeons  since  all  the  worlds  were  made 
it  is  at  least  not  unthinkable  that  in  all  the  worlds 
of  which  our  own  atom  is  one,  there  has  ruled  a 
Force  illimitable,  unconquerable  and  inexplicable  and 
whichsoever  its  world  and  whatsoever  the  sign  denoting  or 
the  name  given  it,  the  Force — the  Thing  has  been  the 
same.  Upon  our  own  atom  of  the  universe  it  is  given  the 
generic  name  of  Love  and  its  existence  is  that  which  the 
boldest  need  not  defy,  the  most  profound  need  not  attempt 
to  explain  with  clarity,  the  most  brilliantly  sophistical  to 
argue  away.  Its  forms  of  beauty,  triviality,  magnificence, 
imbecility,  loveliness,  stupidity,  holiness,  purity  and  bes 
tiality  neither  detract  from  nor  add  to  its  unalterable 
power.  As  the  earth  revolves  upon  its  axis  and  reveals 
night  and  day,  Spring,  Summer  and  Winter,  so  it  reveals 
this  ceaselessly  working  Force.  Men  who  were  as  gods 
have  been  uplifted  or  broken  by  it,  fools  have  trifled  with 
it,  brutes  have  sullied  it,  saints  have  worshipped,  poets 
sung  and  wits  derided  it.  As  electricity  is  a  force  death 
dealing,  or  illuminating  and  power  bestowing,  so  is  this 
Great  Impeller,  and  it  is  fatuous — howsoever  worldly  wise 
or  modernly  sardonic  one  would  choose  to  be — to  hint 
ironically  that  its  proportions  are  less  than  the  ages  have 
proved  them.  Whether  a  world  formed  without  a  neces 
sity  for  the  presence  and  assistance  of  this  psychological 
factor  would  have  been  a  better  or  a  worse  one,  it  is — by 
good  fortune — not  here  imperative  that  one  should  attempt 
to  decide.  What  is — exists.  None  of  us  created  it. 

360 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  361 

Each  one  will  deal  with  the  Impeller  as  he  himself  either 
sanely  or  madly  elects.  He  will  also  bear  the  consequences 
— and  so  also  may  others. 

Of  this  force  the  Head  of  the  House  of  Coombe  and  his 
old  friend  knew  much  and  had  often  spoken  to  each  other. 
They  had  both  been  accustomed  to  recognizing  its  signs 
subtle  or  crude,  and  watching  their  development.  They 
had  seen  it  in  the  eyes  of  creatures  young  enough  to  be 
called  boys  and  girls,  they  had  heard  it  in  musical  laughter 
and  in  silly  giggles,  they  had  seen  it  express  itself  in 
tragedy  and  comedy  and  watched  it  end  in  union  or  in  a 
nothingness  which  melted  away  like  a  wisp  of  fog.  But 
they  knew  it  was  a  thing  omnipresent  and  that  no  one 
passed  through  life  untouched  by  it  in  some  degree. 

Years  before  this  evening  two  children  playing  in  a 
garden  had  not  known  that  the  Power — the  Thing — drew 
them  with  its  greatest  strength  because  among  myriads  of 
atoms  they  two  were  created  for  oneness.  Enraptured  and 
unaware  they  played  together,  their  souls  and  bodies  drawn 
nearer  each  other  every  hour. 

So  it  was  that — without  being  portentous — one  may 
say  that  when  an  unusually  beautiful  and  unusually  well 
dressed  and  perfectly  fitted  young  man  turned  involun 
tarily  in  the  particular  London  ball  room  in  which  Mrs. 
Gareth-Lawless'  daughter  watched  the  dancers,  and  looked 
unintentionally  into  the  eyes  of  a  girl  standing  for  a 
moment  near  the  wide  entrance  doors,  the  inexplicable 
and  unconquerable  Force  reconnected  its  currents  again. 

Donal  Muir's  eyes  only  widened  a  little  for  a  second's 
time.  He  had  not  known  why  he  had  suddenly  looked 
around  and  he  did  not  know  why  he  was  conscious  of 
something  which  startled  him  a  little.  You  could  not 
actually  stare  at  a  girl  because  your  eyes  chanced  to  get 
entangled  in  hers  for  a  second  as  you  danced  past  her.  It 


362  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

was  true  she  was  of  a  startling  prettiness  and  there  was 
something — .  Yes,  there  was  something  which  drew  the 
eye  and — .  He  did  not  know  what  it  was.  It  had 
actually  given  him  a  sort  of  electric  shock.  He  laughed 
at  himself  a  little  and  then  his  open  brow  looked  puzzled 
for  a  moment. 

"You  saw  Miss  Lawless/'  said  Sara  Studleigh  who  was 
at  the  moment  dancing  prettily  with  him.  She  was  guilty 
of  something  which  might  have  been  called  a  slight  giggle, 
but  it  was  good-natured.  "I  know,  you  saw  Miss  Lawless 
— the  pretty  one  near  the  door." 

"There  are  so  many  pretty  ones  near  everything.  You 
can't  lift  your  eyes  without  seeing  one,"  Donal  answered. 
"What  a  lot  of  them !"  (The  sense  of  having  received  a 
slight  electric  shock  made  you  feel  that  you  must  look 
again  and  find  out  what  had  caused  it,  he  was  thinking.) 

"She  is  the  one  with  the  eyelashes/' 

"I  have  eyelashes — so  have  you,"  looking  down  at  hers 
with  a  very  taking  expression.  Hers  were  in  fact  nice 
ones. 

"But  ours  are  not  two  inches  long  and  they  don't  make 
a  big  soft  circle  round  our  eyes  when  we  look  at  anyone." 

"Please  look  up  and  let  me  see,"  said  DonaL.  "When  I 
asked  you  to  dance  with  me  I  thought " 

What  a  "way"  he  had,  Sara  Studleigh  was  thinking. 
But  ''perhaps  it  was  the  eyelashes"  was  passing  through 
Donal's  mind.  Very  noticeable  eyelashes  were  rather 
arresting. 

"I  knew  you  saw  her,"  said  Sara  Studleigh,  "because 
I  have  happened  to  be  near  two  or  three  people  this  evening 
when  they  caught  their  first  sight  of  her." 

"What  happens  to  them?"  asked  Donal  Muir. 

"They  forget  where  they  are,"  she  laughed,  "and  don't 
say  anything  for  a  few  seconds." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OP  COOMBE  363 

"I  should  not  want  to  forget  where  I  am.  It  wouldn't 
be  possible  either,"  answered  Donal.  ("But  that  was  it," 
he  thought.  "For  a  minute  I  forgot/') 

One  should  not  dance  with  one  girl  and  talk  to  her 
about  another.  Wisely  he  led  her  to  other  subjects.  The 
music  was  swinging  through  the  air  performing  its  ever 
lasting  miracle  of  swinging  young  souls  and  pulses  with 
it,  the  warmed  flowers  breathed  more  perceptible  scent, 
sweet  chatter  and  laughter,  swaying  colour  and  glowing 
eyes  concentrated  in  making  magic.  This  beautiful 
young  man's  pulses  only  beat  with  the  rest — as  one  with 
the  pulse  of  the  Universe.  Lady  Lothwell  acting  for  the 
Duchess  was  very  kind  to  him  finding  him  another  partner 
as  soon  as  a  new  dance  began — this  time  her  own  daughter, 
Lady  Kathryn. 

Even  while  he  had  been  tangoing  with  Sara  Studleigh 
he  had  seen  the  girl  with  the  eyelashes,  whirling  about 
with  someone,  and  when  he  began  his  dance  with  Kathryn, 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
And  almost  immediately  Kathryn  spoke  of  her. 

"I  don't  know  when  you  will  get  a  dance  with  Miss 
Lawless,"  she  said.  "She  is  obliged  to  work  out  math 
ematical  problems  on  her  programme." 

"I  have  a  setter  who  fixes  his  eyes  on  you  and  waits 
without  moving  until  you  look  at  him  and  then  he  makes 
a  dart  and  you're  obliged  to  pat  him,"  he  said.  "Perhaps 
if  I  go  and  stand  near  her  and  do  that  she  will  take 
notice  of  me." 

"Take  notice  of  him,  the  enslaving  thing!"  thought 
Kathryn.  "She'd  jump — for  all  her  talk  about  lepers — 
any  girl  would.  He's  too  nice  1  There's  something  about 
him  too." 

Robin  did  not  jump.  She  had  no  time  to  do  it  because 
one  dance  followed  another  so  quickly  and  some  of  them 


364  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

were  even  divided  in  two  or  three  pieces.  But  the  thrill  of 
the  singing  sound  of  the  violins  behind  the  greenery,  the 
perfume  and  stately  spaces  and  thousand  candlelights  had 
suddenly  been  lifted  on  to  another  plane  though  she  had 
thought  they  could  reach  no  higher  one.  Her  whole  being 
was  a  keen  fine  awareness.  Every  moment  she  was  aware. 
After  all  the  years — from  the  far  away  days — he  had  come 
back.  No  one  had  dreamed  of  the  queer  half  abnormal 
secret  she  had  always  kept  to  herself  as  a  child — as  a  little 
girl — as  a  bigger  one  when  she  would  have  died  rather 
than  divulge  that  in  her  loneliness  there  had  been  some 
thing  she  had  remembered — something  she  had  held  on 
to — a  memory  which  she  had  actually  made  a  companion 
of,  making  pictures,  telling  herself  stories  in  the  dark, 
even  inventing  conversations  which  not  for  one  moment 
had  she  thought  would  or  could  ever  take  place.  But 
they  had  been  living  things  to  her  and  her  one  near 
warm  comfort — closer,  oh,  so  weirdly  closer  than  kind, 
kind  Dowie  and  dearly  beloved  Mademoiselle.  She  had 
wondered  if  the  two  would  have  disapproved  if  they  had 
known — if  Mademoiselle  would  have  been  shocked  if  she 
had  realized  that  sometimes  when  they  walked  together 
there  walked  with  them  a  growing,  laughing  boy  in  a 
swinging  kilt  and  plaid  and  that  he  had  a  voice  and  eyes 
that  drew  the  heart  out  of  your  breast  for  joy.  At  first 
he  had  only  been  a  child  like  herself,  but  as  she  had  grown 
he  had  grown  with  her — but  always  taller,  grander, 
marvellously  masculine  and  beyond  compare.  Yet  never 
once  had  she  dared  to  believe  or  hope  that  he  could  take 
form  before  her  eyes — a  living  thing.  He  had  only  been 
the  shadow  she  had  loved  and  which  could  not  be  taken 
away  from  her  because  he  was  her  secret  and  no  one  could 
ever  know. 

The  music  went  swinging  and  singing  with  notes  which 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  365 

were  almost  a  pain.  And  he  was  in  the  very  room  with 
her!  Donal!  Donal!  He  had  not  known  and  did  not 
know.  He  had  laughed  into  her  eyes  without  knowing — 
but  he  had  come  back.  A  young  man  now  like  all  the 
rest,  but  more  beautiful.  What  a  laugh,  what  wonderful 
shoulders,  what  wonderful  dancing,  how  long  and  strongly 
smooth  and  supple  he  was  in  the  fine  fabric  of  his  clothes ! 
Though  her  mind  did  not  form  these  things  in  words  for 
her,  it  was  only  that  her  eyes  saw  all  the  charm  of  him 
from  head  to  foot,  and  told  her  that  he  was  only  more  than 
ever  what  he  had  been  in  the  miraculous  first  days. 

"Perhaps  he  will  not  find  out  at  all/'  she  thought, 
dancing  all  the  while  and  trying  to  talk  as  well  as  think. 
"I  was  too  little  for  him  to  remember.  I  only  remembered 
because  I  had  nothing  else.  Oh,  if  he  should  not  find 
out!"  She  could  not  go  and  tell  him.  Even  if  a  girl 
could  do  such  a  thing,  perhaps  he  could  not  recall  a 
childish  incident  of  so  long  ago — such  a  small,  small 
thing.  It  had  only  been  immense  to  her  and  so  much 
water  had  flowed  under  his  bridge  bearing  so  many 
flotillas.  She  had  only  stood  and  looked  down  at  a  thin 
trickling  stream  which  carried  no  ships  at  all.  It  was 
very  difficult  to  keep  her  eyes  from  stealing — even  darting 
— about  in  search  of  him.  His  high  fair  head  with  the 
clipped  wave  in  its  hair  could  be  followed  if  one  dared 
be  alert.  He  danced  with  an  auburn  haired  girl,  he  spun 
down  the  room  with  a  brown  one,  he  paused  for  a 
moment  to  show  the  trick  of  a  new  step  to  a  tall  one  with 
black  coils.  He  was  at  the  end  of  the  room,  he  was 
tangoing  towards  her  and  she  felt  her  heart  beat  and 
beat.  He  passed  close  by  and  his  eyes  turned  upon  her 
and  after  he  had  passed  a  queer  little  inner  trembling 
would  not  cease.  Oh !  if  he  had  looked  a  little  longer — 
if  her  partner  would  only  carry  her  past  him !  And  how 


366  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

dreadful  she  was  to  let  herself  feel  so  excited  when  he 
could  not  be  expected  to  remember  such  a  little  thing — 
just  a  baby  playing  with  him  in  a  garden.  Oh! — her 
heart  giving  a  leap — if  he  would  look — if  he  would  look! 

When  did  she  first  awaken  to  a  realization — after  what 
seemed  years  and  years  of  waiting  and  not  being  able  to 
conquer  the  inwardly  trembling  feeling — that  he  was 
beginning  to  look — that  somehow  he  had  become  aware  of 
her  presence  and  that  it  drew  his  eyes  though  there  was 
no  special  recognition  in  them?  Down  the  full  length  of 
the  room  they  met  hers  first,  and  again  as  he  passed  with 
yet  another  partner.  Then  when  he  was  resting  between 
dances  and  being  very  gay  indeed — though  somehow  he 
always  seemed  gay.  He  had  been  gay  when  they  played 
in  the  Gardens.  Yes,  his  eyes  came  and  found  her.  She 
thought  he  spoke  of  her  to  someone  near  him.  Of  course 
Robin  looked  away  and  tried  not  to  look  again  too  soon. 
But  when  in  spite  of  intention  and  even  determination, 
something  forced  her  glance  and  made  it  a  creeping,  follow 
ing  glance — there  were  his  eyes  again.  She  was  fright 
ened  each  time  it  happened,  but  he  was  not.  She  began 
to  know  with  new  beatings  of  the  pulse  that  he  no  longer 
looked  by  chance,  but  because  he  wanted  to  see  her — and 
wished  her  to  see  him,  as  if  he  had  begun  to  call  to  her 
with  a  gay  Donal  challenge.  It  was  like  that,  though 
his  demeanour  was  faultlessly  correct. 

The  incident  of  their  meeting  was  faultlessly  correct, 
also,  when  after  one  of  those  endless  lapses  of  time  Lady 
Lothwell  appeared  and  presented  him  as  if  the  brief 
ceremony  were  one  of  the  most  ordinary  in  existence.  The 
conventional  grace  of  his  bow  said  no  more  than  George's 
had  said  to  those  looking  on,  but  when  he  put  his  arm 
round  her  and  they  began  to  sway  together  in  the  dance, 
Eobin  wondered  in  terror  if  he  could  not  feel  the  beating 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  367 

of  her  heart  under  his  hand.  If  he  could  it  would  be  hor 
rible — but  it  would  not  stop.  To  be  so  near — to  try  to  be 
lieve  it — to  try  to  make  herself  remember  that  she  could 
mean  nothing  to  him  and  that  it  was  only  she  who  was 
ehaking — for  nothing!  But  she  could  not  help  it.  This 
was  the  disjointed  kind  of  thing  that  flew  past  her  mental 
vision.  She  was  not  a  shy  girl,  but  she  could  not  speak. 
Curiously  enough  he  also  was  quite  silent  for  several 
moments.  They  danced  for  a  space  without  a  word  and 
they  did  not  notice  that  people  began  to  watch  them 
because  they  were  an  attracting  pair  to  watch.  And  the 
truth  was  that  neither  of  the  two  knew  in  the  least  what 
the  other  thought. 

"That — is  a  beautiful  waltz,"  he  said  at  last.  He  said 
it  in  a  low  meaning  voice  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of  emotional 
confidence.  He  had  not  actually  meant  to  speak  in  such 
a  tone,  but  when  he  realized  what  its  sound  had  been  he 
did  not  care  in  the  least.  What  was  the  matter  with  him  ? 

"Yes/'  Eobin  answered.     (Only  "Yes.") 

He  had  not  known  when  he  glanced  at  her  first,  he  was 
saying  mentally.  He  could  not,  of  course,  swear  to  her 
now.  But  what  an  extraordinary  thing  that — !  She  was 
like  a  swallow — she  was  like  any  swift  flying  thing  on  a 
man's  arm.  One  could  go  on  to  the  end  of  time.  Once 
round  the  great  ball  room,  twice,  and  as  the  third  round 
began  he  gave  a  little  laugh  and  spoke  again. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question.     May  I?" 

Tea." 

"Is  your  name  Robin  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  could  scarcely  breathe  it. 

"I  thought  it  was,"  in  the  voice  in  which  he  had  spoken 
of  the  music.  "I  hoped  it  was — after  I  first  began  to 
suspect.  I  hoped  it  was." 

"It  is— it  is." 


368  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"Did  we — "  he  had  not  indeed  meant  that  his  arm 
should  hold  her  a  shade  closer,  but — in  spite  of  himself — 
it  did  because  he  was  after  all  so  little  more  than  a  boy, 
" — did  we  play  together  in  a  garden  ?" 

"Yes— yes/7  breathed  Robin.  "We  did."  Surely  she 
heard  a  sound  as  if  he  had  caught  a  quick  breath.  But 
after  it  there  were  a  few  more  steps  and  another  brief 
space  of  silence. 

"I  knew,"  he  said  next,  very  low.  "I  knew  that  we 
played  together  in  a  garden." 

"You  did  not  know  when  you  first  looked  at  me  to 
night."  Innocently  revealing  that  even  his  first  glance 
had  been  no  casual  thing  to  her. 

But  his  answer  revealed  something  too. 

"You  were  near  the  door — just  coming  into  the  room. 
I  didn't  know  why  you  startled  me.  I  kept  looking  for 
you  afterwards  in  the  crowd." 

"I  didn't  see  you  look,"  said  Eobin  softly,  revealing 
still  more  in  her  utter  inexperience. 

"No,  because  you  wouldn't  look  at  me — you  were  too 
much  engaged.  Do  you  like  this  step?" 

"I  like  them  all." 

"Do  you  always  dance  like  this?  Do  you  always  make 
your  partner  feel  as  if  he  had  danced  with  you  all  his 
life?" 

"It  is — because  we  played  together  in  the  garden,"  said 
Eobin  and  then  was  quite  terrified  at  herself.  Because 
after  all — after  all  they  were  only  two  conventional  young 
people  meeting  for  the  first  time  at  a  dance,  not  knowing 
each  other  in  the  least.  It  was  really  the  first  time.  The 
meeting  of  two  children  could  not  count.  But  the  beat 
ing  and  strange  elated  inward  tremor  would  not  stop. 

As  for  him  he  felt  abnormal  also  and  he  was  usually  a 
very  normal  creature.  It  was  abnormal  to  be  so  excited 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  369 

that  he  found  himself,  as  it  were,  upon  another  plane,  be 
cause  he  had  recognized  and  was  dancing  with  a  girl  he 
had  not  seen  since  she  was  five  or  six.  It  was  not  normal 
that  he  should  be  possessed  by  a  desire  to  keep  near  to 
her,  overwhelmed  by  an  impelling  wish  to  talk  to  her — 
to  ask  her  questions.  About  what — about  herself — them 
selves — the  years  between — about  the  garden. 

"It  began  to  come  back  bit  by  bit  after  I  had  two  fair 
looks.  You  passed  me  several  times  though  you  didn't 
know."  (Oh!  had  she  not  known!)  "I  had  been  prom 
ised  some  dances  by  other  people.  But  I  went  to  Lady 
Lothwell.  She's  very  kind." 

Back  swept  the  years  and  it  had  all  begun  again,  the 
wonderful  happiness — just  as  the  anguish  had  swept  back 
on  the  night  her  mother  had  come  to  talk  to  her.  As  he 
had  brought  it  into  her  dreary  little  world  then,  he  brought 
it  now.  He  had  the  power.  She  was  so  happy  that  she 
seemed  to  be  only  waiting  to  hear  what  he  would  say — 
as  if  that  were  enough.  There  are  phases  like  this — 
rare  ones — and  it  was  her  fate  that  through  such  a  phase 
she  was  passing. 

It  was  indeed  true  that  much  more  water  had  passed 
under  his  bridge  than  under  hers,  but  now — !  Memory 
reproduced  for  him  with  an  acuteness  like  actual  pain, 
a  childish  torment  he  thought  he  had  forgotten.  And  it 
was  as  if  it  had  been  endured  only  yesterday — and  as  if 
the  urge  to  speak  and  explain  was  as  intense  as  it  had 
been  on  the  first  day. 

"She's  very  little  and  she  won't  understand,"  he  had 
said  to  his  mother.  "She's  very  little,  really — perhaps 
she'll  cry." 

How  monstrous  it  had  seemed!  Had  she  cried — poor 
little  soul !  He  looked  down  at  her  eyelashes.  Her  cheek 
had  been  of  the  same  colour  and  texture  then.  That  came 


370  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

back  to  him  too.  The  impulse  to  tighten  his  arms  was 
infernally  powerful — almost  automatic. 

"She  has  no  one  but  me  to  remember!"  he  heard  his 
own  child  voice  saying  fiercely.  Good  Lord,  it  was  as  if 
it  had  been  yesterday.  He  actually  gulped  something 
down  in  his  throat. 

"You  haven't  rested  much,"  he  said  aloud.  "There's 
a  conservatory  with  marble  seats  and  corners  and  a 
fountain  going.  Will  you  let  me  take  you  there  when  we 
stop  dancing?  I  want  to  apologize  to  you." 

The  eyelashes  lifted  themselves  and  made  round  her 
eyes  the  big  soft  shadow  of  which  Sara  Studleigh  had 
spoken.  A  strong  and  healthy  valvular  organ  in  his 
breast  lifted  itself  curiously  at  the  same  time. 

"To  apologize?" 

Was  he  speaking  to  her  almost  as  if  she  were  still  four 
or  five  ?  It  was  to  the  helplessness  of  those  years  he  was 
about  to  explain — and  yet  he  did  not  feel  as  though  he 
were  still  eight. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  why  I  never  came  back  to  the  garden. 
It  was  a  broken  promise,  wasn't  it?" 

The  music  had  not  ceased,  but  they  stopped  dancing. 

"Will  you  come?"  he  said  and  she  went  with  him  like 
a  child — just  as  she  had  followed  in  her  babyhood.  It 
seemed  only  natural  to  do  what  he  asked. 

The  conservatory  was  like  an  inner  Paradise  now.  The 
tropically  scented  warmth — the  tiers  on  tiers  of  bloom 
above  bloom — the  softened  swing  of  music — the  splash  of 
the  fountain  on  water  and  leaves.  Their  plane  had  lifted 
itself  too.  They  could  hear  the  splashing  water  and  some 
times  feel  it  in  the  corner  seat  of  marble  he  took  her  to. 
A  crystal  drop  fell  on  her  hand  when  she  sat  down.  The 
blue  of  his  eyes  was  vaguely  troubled  and  he  spoke  as  if 
he  were  not  certain  of  himself. 


"I  was  wakened  up  in  what  seemed  to  me  the  middle  of 
the  night/'  he  said,  as  if  indeed  the  thing  had  happened 
only  the  day  before.  "My  mother  was  obliged  to  go  back 
suddenly  to  Scotland.  I  was  only  a  little  chap,  but  it 
nearly  finished  me.  Parents  and  guardians  don't  under 
stand  how  gigantic  such  a  thing  can  be.  I  had  promised 
you — we  had  promised  each  other — hadn't  we?" 

<rYes,"  said  Eobin.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  his  face 
— open  and  unmoving.  Such  eyes !  Such  eyes !  All  the 
touchingness  of  the  past  was  in  their  waiting  on  his  words. 

"Children — little  boys  especially — are  taught  that  they 
must  not  cry  out  when  they  are  hurt.  As  I  sat  in  the 
train  through  the  journey  that  day  I  thought  my  heart 
would  burst  in  my  small  breast.  I  turned  my  back  and 
stared  out  of  the  window  for  fear  my  mother  would  see 
my  face.  I'd  always  loved  her.  Do  you  know  I  think 
that  just  then  I  hated  her.  I  had  never  hated  anything 
before.  Good  Lord!  What  a  thing  for  a  little  chap  to 
go  through!  My  mother  was  an  angel,  but  she  didn't 
know." 

"No,"  said  Eobin  in  a  small  strange  voice  and  without 
moving  her  gaze.  "She  didn't  Tcnow" 

He  had  seated  himself  on  a  sort  of  low  marble  stool 
near  her  and  he  held  a  knee  with  clasped  hands.  They 
were  hands  which  held  each  other  for  the  moment  with 
a  sort  of  emotional  clinch.  His  position  made  him  look 
upward  at  her  instead  of  down. 

"It  was  you  I  was  wild  about,"  he  said.  "You  see  it 
was  you.  I  could  have  stood  it  for  myself.  The  trouble 
was  that  I  felt  I  was  such  a  big  little  chap.  I  thought  I 
was  years — ages  older  than  you — and  mountains  bigger," 
his  faint  laugh  was  touched  with  pity  for  the  smallness  of 
the  big  little  chap.  "You  seemed  so  tiny  and  pretty— 
and  lonely." 


372  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

"I  was  as  lonely  as  a  new-born  bird  fallen  out  of  its 
nest." 

"You  had  told  me  you  had  'nothing.'  You  said  no  one 
had  ever  kissed  you.  I'd  been  loved  all  my  life.  You 
had  a  wondering  way  of  fixing  your  eyes  on  me  as  if  I 
could  give  you  everything — perhaps  it  was  a  coxy  little 
chap's  conceit  that  made  me  love  you  for  it — but  perhaps 
it  wasn't." 

"You  were  everything,"  Eobin  said — and  the  mere 
simpleness  of  the  way  in  which  she  said  it  brought  the 
garden  so  near  that  he  smelt  the  warm  hawthorn  and  heard 
the  distant  piano  organ  and  it  quickened  his  breath. 

"It  was  because  I  kept  seeing  your  eyes  and  hearing 
your  laugh  that  I  thought  my  heart  was  bursting.  I  knew 
you'd  go  and  wait  for  me — and  gradually  your  little  face 
would  begin  to  look  different.  I  knew  you'd  believe  I'd 
come.  'She's  little' — that  was  what  I  kept  saying  to  my 
self  again  and  again.  'And  she'll  cry — awfully — and  she'll 
think  I  did  it.  She'll  never  know.'  There," — he  hesi 
tated  a  moment — "there  was  a  kind  of  mad  shame  in  it. 
As  if  I'd  betrayed  your  littleness  and  your  belief,  though 
I  was  too  young  to  know  what  betraying  was." 

Just  as  she  had  looked  at  him  before,  "as  if  he  could 
give  her  everything,"  she  was  looking  at  him  now.  In 
what  other  way  could  she  look  while  he  gave  her  this 
wonderful  soothing,  binding  softly  all  the  old  wounds 
with  unconscious,  natural  touch  because  he  had  really  been 
all  her  child  being  had  been  irradiated  and  warmed  by. 
There  was  no  pose  in  his  manner — no  sentimental  or  flir 
tatious  youth's  affecting  of  a  picturesque  attitude.  It 
was  real  and  he  told  her  this  thing  because  he  must  for 
his  own  relief. 

"Did  you  cry  ?"  he  said.  "Did  my  little  chap's  conceit 
make  too  much  of  it?  I  suppose  I  ought  to  hope  it  did." 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  373 

Eobin  put  her  hand  softly  against  her  heart. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I  was  only  a  baby,  but  I  think 
it  killed  something — here." 

He  caught  a  big  hard  breath. 

"Oh  I"  he  said  and  for  a  few  seconds  simply  sat  and 
gazed  at  her. 

"But  it  came  to  life  again  ?"  he  said  afterwards. 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  it  was.  Perhaps 
it  could  only  live  in  a  very  little  creature.  But  it  was 
killed." 

"I  say!"  broke  from  him.  "It  was  like  wringing  a 
canary's  neck  when  it  was  singing  in  the  sun !" 

A  sudden  swelling  of  the  music  of  a  new  dance  swept 
in  to  them  and  he  rose  and  stood  up  before  her. 

"Thank  you  for  giving  me  my  chance  to  tell  you,"  he 
said.  "This  was  the  apology.  You  have  been  kind  to 
listen." 

"I  wanted  to  listen,"  Eobin  said.  "I  am  glad  I  didn't 
live  a  long  time  and  grow  old  and  die  without  your  tell 
ing  me.  When  I  saw  you  tonight  I  almost  said  aloud, 
'He's  come  back !' " 

"I'm  glad  I  came.  It's  queer  how  one  can  live  a  thing 
over  again.  There  have  been  all  the  years  between  for 
us  both.  For  me  there's  been  all  a  lad's  life — tutors  and 
Eton  and  Oxford  and  people  and  lots  of  travel  and  amuse 
ment.  But  the  minute  I  set  eyes  on  you  near  the  door 
something  must  have  begun  to  drag  me  back.  I'll  own 
I've  never  liked  to  let  myself  dwell  on  that  memory.  It 
wasn't  a  good  thing  because  it  had  a  trick  of  taking  me 
back  in  a  fiendish  way  to  the  little  chap  with  his  heart 
bursting  in  the  railway  carriage — and  the  betrayal  feel 
ing.  It's  morbid  to  let  yourself  grouse  over  what  can't 
be  undone.  So  you  faded  away.  But  when  I  danced 
past  you  somehow  I  knew  I'd  come  on  something.  It 


374  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE 

made  me  restless.  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  away  decently. 
Then  all  at  once  I  knew!  I  couldn't  tell  you  what  the 
effect  was.  There  you  were  again — I  was  as  much  obliged 
to  tell  you  as  I  should  have  been  if  I'd  found  you  at 
Braemarnie  when  I  got  there  that  night.  Conventions 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  would  not  have  mattered 
even  if  you'd  obviously  thought  I  was  a  fool.  You  might 
have  thought  so,  you  know." 

"No,  I  mightn't,"  answered  Eobin.  "There  have  been 
no  Eton  and  Oxford  and  amusements  for  me.  This  is 
my  first  party." 

She  rose  as  he  had  done  and  they  stood  for  a  second 
or  so  with  their  eyes  resting  on  each  other's — each  with  a 
young  smile  quivering  into  life  which  neither  was  con 
scious  of.  It  was  she  who  first  wakened  and  came  back. 
He  saw  a  tiny  pulse  flutter  in  her  throat  and  she  lifted 
her  hand  with  a  delicate  gesture. 

"This  dance  was  Lord  Halwyn's  and  we've  sat  it  out. 
We  must  go  back  to  the  ball  room." 

"I — suppose — we  must,"  he  answered  with  slow  reluc 
tance — but  he  could  scarcely  drag  his  eyes  away  from  hers 
—even  though  he  obeyed,  and  they  turned  and  went. 

In  the  shining  ball  room  the  music  rose  and  fell  and 
swelled  again  into  ecstasy  as  he  took  her  white  young 
lightness  in  his  arm  and  they  swayed  and  darted  and 
swooped  like  things  of  the  air — while  the  old  Duchess  and 
Lord  Coombe  looked  on  almost  unseeing  and  talked  in 
murmurs  of  Sarajevo. 


THE   END 


PUBLISHEKS'  NOTE 

The  inflexible  limitations  of  magazine  space  necessi 
tated  the  omission — in  its  serial  form — of  so  large  a  por 
tion  of  THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  as 
to  eliminate  much  of  the  charm  of  characterization  and 
the  creation  of  atmosphere  and  background  which  add  so 
greatly  to  the  power  and  picturesqueness  of  the  author's 
work. 

These  values  having  "been  unavoidably  lost  in  a  greatly 
compressed  version,  it  is  the  publishers'  desire  to  produce 
the  story  in  its  entirety,  and,  as  during  its  writing  it  de 
veloped  into  what  might  be  regarded  as  two  novels — so  dis 
tinctly  does  it  deal  ivith  two  epochs — it  has  been  decided  to 
present  it  to  its  public  as  two  separate  books.  The  first, 
THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE,  deals  with 
social  life  in  London  during  the  evolutionary  period  be 
tween  the  late  Victorian  years  and  the  reign  of  Edward' 
VII  and  that  of  his  successor,  previous  to  the  Great  War. 
It  brings  Lord  Coombe  and  Donal,  Feather  and  her  girl 
Robin  to  the  summer  of  1914.  It  ends  with  the  ending  of 
a  world  which  can  never  again  be  the  same.  The  second 
novel,  ROBIN,  to  be  published  later  continues  the  story  of 
the  same  characters,  facing  existence,  however,  in  a  world 
transformed  by  tragedy,  and  in  which  new  aspects  of 
character,  new  social,  economic,  and  spiritual  possibilities 
are  to  be  confronted,  rising  to  the  surface  of  life  as  from 
the  depths  of  unknown  seas.  Readers  of  THE  HEAD 
OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  COOMBE  will  follow  the  story  of 
Robin  with  intensified  interest. 


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